Maze Rose
by robinartemiselfhood
Summary: When Thomas comes up in the Box, he's not the only one in it: there's a girl, too. What sort of trouble will she bring the Glade? Featuring O/C, who is the only thing I own. No copyright infringement intended.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

He's running, frantic. A Griever pursuing him. He flashes a glance over his shoulder, lets out a cry at the sight of how close the monster is. His best friend's name slips from his lips: "ALBY!"

The Griever screams, making him want to clap his hands over his ears. Instead he shouts again. "ALBY, HELP!" If he can stay alive long enough for Alby to get here, they can fight off the Griever together. "ALBY!"

He skids around a corner and nearly runs into a dead end. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. "ALBY!" There's nowhere to go now.

Unless . . .

The Griever rounds the corner, making his decision for him. He spins and starts climbing the wall, something he's never done before but is relatively easy to do: there are cracks in the wall that make for good hand-and-footholds, and the vines are like ropes, strong and steady. He reaches the top and starts running along the top, thankful for the thickness at the top. Six feet of space is easy to run along. And from up here, he can see the entirety of the Maze. He's already on the outskirts of the inner circle surrounding the hellhole called the Glade. "ALBY!" he yells again, his voice starting to go hoarse.

"Newt?" He hears Alby's voice faintly. He's probably only near the Doors. Newt flings himself across a gap, stumbling as he lands on the next stretch of wall.

"THERE'S A GRIEVER CHASING ME!" Newt screams. It's getting hard to see where he's going: the sky's getting extraordinarily dark.

"Run faster!" Alby's voice is somewhat closer.

"NO SHUCK!"

He pushes harder against the wall, barely sees the next gap in time. After making it across he glances behind him. The Griever's gone, but if he wants to make it to the Doors before they close he has to keep running. He fumbles behind him for his flashlight, not caring if it'll attract Grievers to his location. He finds it, flips it on.

"Hurry, Newt!" Alby's definitely close. Newt spares a glance up, away from his footing, and finds that the Doors are right there, maybe only ten feet away. Before he can stop running, a Griever springs onto the top of the wall, blocking his way. He swears it's the same one that was chasing him earlier. He has no time to stop.

 _I hate this place._

He jumps.

He goes flying over the Griever, soaring over it's shuck head, and then towards the Doors, falling.

"ALBY!" The word is torn from his mouth, and then he hits the ground feet first.

The last thing he hears is Alby's enraged bellow.


	2. Chapter 1 - Arrival in the Maze

**CHAPTER ONE**

 **ROSE**

I wake sprawled on hexagonal, rusty grating, in the dark, but able to hear someone else. There are little signs: heavy breathing, a large echoing thud. Maybe a punch on metal walls?

The grating I'm on lurches. Elevator. The word pops into my head. How do I know this?

Who am I?

I know what, say, a lamp is, and electricity, and can recall the taste of a marshmallow, but I have no memories of my past life. I don't even know my name.

My name.

I sit up and scoot backwards, sensing a corner behind me. I lean against it, listening to the grinding and clanking of rusty gears. I feel calm, despite the fact that I don't know where I'm going. I feel like I'm beyond panic, as though I've been through some great trauma that has prepared me for whatever comes next.

More little sounds. Someone's in here.

"Hello," I say quietly.

There's a sharp intake of breath. "Who are you?" A boy's voice, somewhere between fifteen and eighteen. Probably sixteen though.

I crack a small smile, despite the fact that he can't see me. "Who are you?"

"Thomas," he says slowly, and then persists: "What about you?"

"No idea," I admit, smiling wider at the irony. "I don't remember my name." All of a sudden I feel a wave of dizziness, so bad that it clouds my vision with purple and pink sparkles. I catch myself and shake my head, desperately trying to clear it. It goes away quickly. I focus my attention on Thomas.

"You will, I think." I hear him shift in the dark. "Where are we going?"

"To Neverland," I say, wondering what "Neverland" is. He snorts. "What's Neverland?"

"I have just as many questions as you." I scoot my butt forward a bit, bending my back more. "What is this? Are we going to be going up forever? Why are we in here?" I sigh and shake my head. "I don't know; I don't know anything. Heck, I don't even know my name. So in a way, you're better off."

Thomas grunts. "Not by a whole lot."

We sit in silence for a few minutes. Then Thomas says, "I hope that wherever we're going has ice cream. I'm hot."

I nod. "What's your favorite flavor?"

"Of ice cream?" he says. "Oh, man . . . I'd have to say mint chocolate chip. With green ice cream."

"The ice cream has to be green?" I say, giggling. "That's odd." The dizziness comes back, worse this time. Accompanied by a pounding headache. Damn. I press my hands to my temples, ducking my head between my knees. Dimly aware of Thomas talking. Focus.

After what seems like ages, it goes away. It's only been about half a second, though, because I can hear him speaking. He doesn't know what's happening to me.

"Mint chocolate chip ice cream is not good if the ice cream isn't green," Thomas protests. "It doesn't feel authentic. I'm serious." Then, probably to keep me from joking about the greenness of ice cream: "What about you?"

"I'm going to go with a traditional flavor and say vanilla," I say, after thinking.

We talk, get to know each other as well as possible. Minutes stretch into an hour, then an hour and a half. I lose track of the time.

Going up.

Talking.

And then we stop.

I'm on my feet, pressing myself into a corner. My hands fly over my arms and legs, checking to make sure I'm wearing clothes. Pants, maybe cargoes, and a longsleeved tee. Good.

"Hey!" Thomas shouts. "Hey! Someone get us out of here!" I think he's standing up too. Probably. I reach up with my fingers. Is there a ceiling to this place?

"HELP!" Thomas screams.

"Shut up," I snap, moving unsteadily over to him. I lay a hand on his arm and push him down. "Sit. Breathe. Someone will get us out of here. Okay?"

"How are you not scared?" His voice trembles.

I sit down beside him and lean a head on his shoulder. It feels familiar, like we've been together like this before. "I am. But I'm tucking it away in a far corner of my mind, because being scared won't get us out of here."

Dizziness. Third time. Ouch. Worse. I almost black out with the force of the pain. With difficulty, I force it away with all my strength and pay attention to what he's saying.

"What will?" His breaths are coming heavily. I ruffle his hair. "If I stand on your head . . ."

"Don't," he warns.

I laugh. My throat's dry, desertlike. Probably from that dizziness thing.

There's a terrible screeching sound, making me fling myself to my feet, and light floods down on us. I back into a corner, shielding my eyes against the brightness.

We're in a small, rusty elevatorlike box that opens from the top. Crowding around the edge are at least thirty boys, dressed in an array of browns and flashes of green and blue. I glance down at myself. I'm wearing ankle combat boots, skinny, dark brown cargo pants, a black tank top, and a pecan-colored, floaty tunic-like shirt, a few sizes too big. Maybe it's a men's shirt.

Voices.

"Look at that shank."

"How old is he?"

"Looks like a clunk in a t-shirt."

"You're the clunk, shuck-face."

"Dude, it smells like feet down there!"

"Hope you enjoyed the one-way trip, Greenie."

"Ain't no ticket back, bro."

I feel a surge of protectiveness. A thought stampedes across my brain. Who are they to talk to my brother like that?

I feel my face scrunch up in confusion. Did I just think he is my brother? Thomas is my brother? No, it can't be.

"Alright, everyone shut up and get the shuck out of the way." This voice is different, with more of a commanding tone, and an accent. It comes from a tall boy of maybe sixteen, with ruffled blond hair. He lowers a rope in to Thomas. "Grab on, Greenie." His voice softens. "We're the only home you've got now."

Thomas glances around. Our eyes lock. I feel the corner of my mouth twitch in an encouraging smile, and Thomas puts his foot in the loop at the bottom of the rope. But his hesitation has caught the blond boy's attention, and he hands the rope to someone else, a dark-skinned boy who looks maybe seventeen. As Thomas is going up, out of the box, the blond jumps down, landing in a crouch. His feet don't make a sound. He peers at me, like he can't understand what he's seeing.

"What is it, Newt?" the boy holding the rope demands.

Newt.

Strange name.

They must not be able to see me, the ones outside the box.

Newt holds out his hand, like he's taming an animal. "C'mon out," he says, his voice gentle.

What, does he think I'm scared? I don't know what to do. What do you say when someone approaches you like this, when you're not afraid but they think you are?

I clear my throat. "Do—" My voice comes out in a whisper and I clear my throat again. It doesn't help, so I plow on in the rasp. "Do you have any water?"

He spins. "Water! One of you, go get water!"

"What's down there?" Comes the reply.

"None of your shuckin' business!"

Someone tosses Newt a flask. He offers it to me. I take a step and the headache combined with dizziness comes back. It's like I was prepared the last two times, able to push it away. This time, I can't. I trip over my own feet and collapse in a heap. Pain strikes my shoulder, hip, and head, and then I'm unconscious.

=XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX=

 **NEWT**

She steps forward, and I feel a flash of relief. Then she trips and doesn't catch herself. I'm on my knees beside her before I can think, checking her pulse. She's unconscious and her heartbeat is erratic. I open her mouth and slip a few drops of water in, then put her head on my lap and massage her throat carefully to get her to swallow.

The Greenie lands next to me. "What's wrong?"

I transfer the girl's head to his lap and stand, whirling to face the others. Gally is sitting on the edge, his hands braced in a way that suggests he's about to jump in. He can't see who's in the Box—the Greenie's back is blocking her. I give a fierce bark: "No one come in here!"

Even Alby looks startled at my tone, Alby, who I have been through everything with. He drops the rope and takes a few steps towards the Box. "Newt . . ."

"Go back to your shuckin' chores, everyone!" I order loudly.

Silence.

"You heard him," Alby shouts. Everyone starts moving away reluctantly, casting hopeful glances in the Box as they pass. Gally stays put. "What—who—is it?"

"Just another shuckin' Greenie," I say, making my tone hard. "Passed out from fear, most like. Get the bloody shuck back to your builder job before I deliver your head there. Just your head."

Gally glowers at me but strides away.

Alby drops into the Box. "Alright, Newt, expl . . ." He catches sight of the girl and trails off, an amazed expression crossing his face. "That's . . ."

"A girl," I finish quietly, when it seems Alby will be unable to. "Yeah." I rub my jaw where it meets my ear, my head tipping to the side. "Now what do we do?"

"Maybe we should take her out of here," the Greenie suggests sarcastically.

"Give her some more water," I snap at him, but he's right. We should get her out of here. Now how to do that without anyone noticing?

I glance around at the barrels of supplies. What if we put her in one of them, and carried it . . . as soon as the thought enters my brain I push it away. Cause that would go well. What if she woke up while we were carrying it? Not an option.

It only takes me three more seconds to toss caution to the winds. "Alby, get up there and haul us up."

"Sorry?" Alby says, staring at me incredulously. He is the leader, after all. I shouldn't be giving orders.

"Please?" I add.

He rolls his eyes but climbs out and tosses the rope down. I go up first, with strict instructions to the Greenie about how to tie the rope around the girl's waist. Then comes the girl, who I release from the rope and pick up. "I'll bring her to the Homestead."

Alby gives a short nod and I take off across the grass, tucking the girl's head against my chest and trying to keep her from being seen. No offense, but there are some icky guys here in the Glade, guys who wouldn't hesitate to do something bad.

The girl seems like she should be heavier—she's very light, even though she looks to be maybe five-five. Is that the average height for a girl? I don't know. I know nothing about girls, except that this one is pretty. Are all of them like this?

The Homestead approaches. I race for the door and at the last second spin around so my back crashes through it, knocking it off its hinges. I sprint for the stairs.

"Newt!" Gally calls.

I freeze. Where is he? "What?"

"Where are you?"

He's outside.

"Just a sec," I shout, and take the stairs three at a time. I lock the girl in the end room, where none of the Gladers are allowed to go, and hope she doesn't wake up in the five minutes I should be gone. I shoot back down the stairs and out of the Homestead. "Yeah, Gally?"

"Look, since when do you not let us see what's in the Box?" He's got a huge group of Gladers, at least half of them, all behind him, lined up like some kind of army.

"Gally, if you'd wanted to see what was in the buggin' Box, you would have jumped in before I did," I say. "But you were too afraid, and now it's none of your business."

"Or you just didn't give me a chance," Gally snaps, which is a lame comeback.

I take a step closer, my hand itching for the blade strapped to my back. "Shut your crackhole and go back to whatever the shuck you were doin' before. What was in the Box was a bloody Greenie, and he's fine now. So go off and count the daisies if you're looking for somethin' to do."

"I have been here for three years," Gally hisses. "I have a right to know what was in there."

"I've been in this shuckin' Glade for nearly four years, Gally," I bite out. "Three doesn't cut it. If you weren't one of the first five, you have no right to know. And so I repeat: go count the shuckin' daisies."

Alby walks up, shouldering through the Gladers behind Gally and dispersing them with looks. He storms between me and Gally and physically shoves the head of the builders in the direction of his workstation. "Go. Back. To. Work."

"I've been in the Glade for three years—" Gally starts.

I wince. Even though it's Gally, of all people, I feel sorry for him. The "I'm a senior Glader" try isn't going to work, not with the first Glader ever.

Alby starts going off at Gally about how he's a stupid pile of klunk and I take this opportunity to slip back into the homestead to check on the girl. I go up the stairs as fast as my stupid limp will take me and carefully open the door.

The girl's still asleep.

I go back downstairs and fill a flask with water, bring it back to the room. Put a few blankets beneath her, fold one up under her head.

I sit back and wait.

 **A/N:** Sorry about that wait, and for the prologue that doesn't really explain much :) Please let me know what you think of how this is so far, reviews are like candy or what have you: you can never have too many! (Or much, depending on what it is)


	3. Chapter 2 - Learning about the Glade

**Ahhh, chapter two at last! Ennnnnjoy!**

 **CHAPTER TWO**

 **ROSE**

I jerk awake, bolting upright like someone poked me with a cattle prod. And then I'm scrambling across the room, dashing for the door. Someone's arm flashes in front of me and I run into it, accidentally slamming my stomach into it.

"Whoa, calm down." It's the same boy from earlier, Newt. He takes my shoulders and pushes me back into the middle of the room. His eyes are a dark brown, holding mine, serious. "Calm down, okay?"

My mind is alight with what he is able to do to me. I tense myself. Be ready for anything. I slowly shrug his hands from my shoulders.

"I'm not gonna hurt ya," he says.

"Right," I snap, and he looks surprised by the sharpness of my voice.

Before either of us can say anything else, I feel another wave of dizziness. I drop to my knees.

Newt speaks, and even though the dizziness is fading away, I can't understand him. "Sorry?" I slur as politely as I can. Judging from his worried look, it didn't sound like an actual word. He crouches beside me, the sound of his voice washing over me. I shut my eyes, some intact part of my mind wishing for the confusion to go away.

When I'm next aware of anything, Newt is less than three inches away, behind me and to the left, his hand between my shoulderblades. He's softly repeating "hey".

My instincts react before I do. I roll forward, spin, and kick him in the face. He falls to the side, his hand flying to his face where my boot struck.

I scramble backwards, horrified. "I—I—"

The door's flung open, and I know it's Thomas. I spring up. "I didn't mean to—"

"Get behind me," he commands, shoving me into the corner and standing protectively in front of me.

I just kicked someone in the face, I want to say. I don't need protection. But it seems that I may be the only girl here, judging from the way Newt's treating me, so I keep my mouth shut.

A tall kid, with cropped blond hair and strangely—no, creepily—arched eyebrows, bursts into the room. His eyes flick over Newt, but he doesn't bother to help him up. He turns to Thomas. "Where is the thing in the Box, Greenie?"

Thomas stays silent, but from the tensing in his shoulders, he's probably giving Creepy Eyebrows a big-brother-protectiveness death glare.

There it is again. Brother.

I don't have time to ponder this, though, because Creepy Eyebrows lashes out with a fist and punches Thomas, right in the jaw. Thomas stays up, but another hit like that and he won't. I've seen punches like that. I'm surprised Thomas did stay up.

Another punch and he's collapsed on the ground.

Creepy Eyebrows's eyes go wide at the sight of me, then rake over my body. His gaze hovers at my chest, flicks over my legs and face, and then settles back on my chest. A greedy look is on his face. I realize how stupid kicking Newt in the face was. He's still down. I may have knocked him out. If he were awake, could I rely on him to keep me out of harm's way?

Can I rely on any of these boys to keep me safe?

Obviously not Creepy Eyebrows.

He takes a step towards me. "My, my, look what we have here." He reaches out and closes a hand around my arm. Tight. My hand starts to lose blood.

And I get mad.

I stomp on his knee, twist my arm to get his off, and kick him in the groin.

Use your elbows. You're fast and small.

I don't know where this comes from, but I use the advice. I spin and ram my elbow into Creepy Eyebrows's throat. He chokes. I dance around him, feeling confident, and get kicked in the stomach. All the air goes out of my body. I fall to my knees, trying to gasp in air but coming up empty.

Creepy Eyebrows grabs my hair and drags me up, shoves me against the wall. "You're gonna pay for that," he wheezes.

I suck in a huge breath, thankful for the air, and squeak in surprise as he pulls me away and slams me back onto the wall. It successfully knocks the breath out of me again.

Then I get scared. I'm literally trembling when Creepy Eyebrows smirks and forces his mouth onto mine, pressing himself against me. As much as I scrabble to break the kiss—it's more like he's trying to eat my face—I can't. At least, until I scratch his face, raking my nails over his cheekbone. Then he jerks back as though scalded. I get my first breath in ages, the air cool and sweet on the back of my throat.

His hand moves to the waist of my jeans.

And then he collapses. I shriek, clapping my hand over my mouth. Newt stands behind Creepy Eyebrows's body, a huge knife in his hand. It's more of a miniature sword. It also doesn't matter what it's technically called, because I'm freaked out either way. He must have slammed the hilt into Creepy Eyebrows's head.

Newt sheathes the sword and kicks at Creepy Eyebrows's body disgustedly. Then he looks up at me. Concern flits across his face. "Did he hurt ya?"

"No," I say, my voice breathless. "Not really."

We watch each other.

"Ya sure he didn't hurt ya?" Newt asks.

I nod. "I can't say the same for you, though."

He smiles and winces. "It's fine."

I shoot him a look.

He rolls his eyes. "Fine. It's not bloody okay. But I'll cope. I have before."

There's no point in protesting.

We watch each other again. The wariness in his eyes is surely reflected in my own. I'm not surprised he's wary of me. I did kick him, after all. When he was just trying to help.

I glance down at Creepy Eyebrows and decide not to be too sympathetic for Newt. What if he had been like Creepy Eyebrows? I wouldn't have stood a chance, not with that knife of his. I don't trust him. What if he was actually trying to make the moves on me when it seemed he wanted to help?

Thomas stirs, rubbing his jaw. I hop over Creepy Eyebrows and crouch beside the boy who my instincts say is my brother. "Thomas. You okay?"

He nods. "Who is that kid?"

"Creepy Eyebrows," I say.

"Gally," Newt says, at the same time.

We stare at each other.

"You call him Creepy Eyebrows?" Newt asks.

"His name's Gally?" I demand. At the same time.

"Okay, look," we both say, and stop. Then: "You go."

"Did I miss something?" Thomas asks, sitting up, then standing shakily. "And what the hell is with that guy? He's messed up."

"The Maze does crazy things ta people," Newt says. "Gally didn't take it too well." He shrugs, oblivious to the fact that Thomas and I are staring at him. "Better'n others, though." He glares at his feet and I get the feeling he's blaming himself for something.

"Okay," Thomas says. "So I got a look around, sort of . . . where are we?"

"The Maze?" I add. "What's the Maze?" Is it Maze or maze? It sounds like he's saying it with a capital M, so I probably should too.

Newt stares at both of us, then sighs and rubs his jaw up by his ear, head tilting. "Greenie, go find Chuck. I'll take care of her." He gestures at me.

"Like you took care of her last time?" Thomas spits. "And the name's Thomas, not Greenie."

"Uh, to be fair," I say, "that was me who kicked him, not Creepy-Eyebrows-a.k.a-Gally. Just saying." I shrug apologetically. "I didn't do it on purpose."

"Seemed like it," Newt mutters, a smile flashing across his face.

"Seemed like you were hitting on me," I retort.

"Oh, dear God, you're like a fiftieth-anniversary couple," Thomas exclaims. "Newt, take good care of my sister." He starts out the door, then freezes and turns back to me and Newt. Newt's staring at him like he's growing reindeer horns, me like someone's just learned they're not insane. Because really, I have.

"S . . . sister?" Newt repeats.

"Did I say that?" Thomas looks at me for confirmation. "Did I seriously say 'sister'?"

I nod. "But that's okay, because I've thought of you as my brother about five or six times already." I meet Newt's appalled brown eyes and give him a look that says, "Hey, I was too busy being manhandled by Gally to mention anything, so don't blame it on me please!"

Judging by his return look, it didn't get through.

I smile at Thomas, who's glancing between me and Newt like he's trying to connect pieces of a puzzle but can't figure it out. "Ta-ta, bro. How old are you, anyway? I want to call you Big Bro, but I'm not sure if you're actually older than me . . ."

"I think I'm sixteen," he says unsurely.

I don't feel sixteen.

"Big Bro it is, then," I say, smiling a smile that is too charming for him to be unsuspicious of. "Again, ta-ta."

He frowns at me, a clear "shut up, you're blabbering" glare, and moves out of the room. I turn to Newt, crossing my arms. "Okay, spill. What is the Maze?"

He sighs. "I'd take you on a tour, but there are a lot o' buggin' people in this Glade I don' trust. If they see you, they might get the wrong idea."

"Like Gally," I say.

He nods. "Like Gally, the stupid shank."

"They will have to see me eventually, you know," I point out reluctantly. "Or else you could have a riot on your hands. And I can protect myself. Sort of." I drag my sleeve across my mouth, aware I'm making a disgusted face.

"What's wrong?" Newt says.

"Gally kissed me," I say, rubbing my mouth again. It's almost like he's still there, slobbering all over me.

Newt's lip curls, and he holds out a canteen. "Try this. It's water." He pauses, eyes bright. "That is, unless you're goin' ta trip and faint again."

"That wasn't a faint," I protest.

He raises an eyebrow. "Then what was it?"

I hesitate.

He smirks.

"Fine, it was fainting," I admit. "One could also call it blacking out from a combination of dizziness and the feeling of someone driving an ice pick through my skull." And I can feel it coming on again, dammit. I see colorful spots at the edge of my vision.

Newt looks worried. "Have ya been drinking water?"

"Oh, yeah," I make myself say, my tone laced with sarcasm. "Because I had so much time to do that, and there was a ton in that box thingy I came up here in." The spots start crowding in.

Newt says something, but even though I can see his mouth moving, I can't understand what he's saying. I cup my ear. "Say what?" At least, "say what" is what I want to say. I think it comes out more as "shmugi whaksj?"

He yells a word. I read his lips. SIT. Now how do I do that . . . ? One leg behind the other . . . fall?

Newt catches me under my armpits as I start to sit clumsily. He's behind me, his chest against my back. He wraps an arm around my waist to hold me up, flicks my temple with his other hand. I blink, then squeeze my eyes closed.

My mind clears.

I drop like a stone, catching myself awkwardly and spinning on my butt to face Newt. He crouches in front of me. "Drink."

I take the flask and make to knock back half the contents. Newt grabs my wrist, his fingers slender and standing out against my pale skin. "Slowly."

I take a small sip, my lips parting in a smile when the cool water hits the back of my throat. I want to gulp the water down so badly it hurts, but Newt's been here longer—

Do you TRUST him? My inner common sense screams.

I drop the flask and move back as fast as my hands and feet will carry me. "That's not poisoned, is it?"

"How many times do I hafta tell ya?" Exasperation clogs his voice. "I am not tryin' ta hurt you! If I was, you'd already be injured. So please: drink the water."

"What if there's a sedative in it?" I fold my arms across my chest, aware of how silly I seem but not caring. "And you're waiting until I drink all the water to—"

He stands up. "Okay, fine. Come with me. I'll take ya to the buggin' stream, which is untreated, and then you can drink to your buggin' heart's content. Okay?"

"I get your sword."

"What'd ya say?"

I stand up. "I said, I get your sword."

"No." He frowns.

"Then say goodbye, because I'll go out into that Maze thing and you'll never see me again." I move towards the door, then freeze as his knife/sword embeds itself in the wall, the handle quivering approximately six inches from my face.

"Go on," he says, tossing me a strip of leather. I wind it around my waist, yank the knife out, and stick it in my makeshift belt.

"Water."

He walks out the door, motioning for me to follow. He leads me down a hall, a set of stairs, and out a door into sunlight.

My mouth drops open.

We're in a huge clearing, one that looks to be the size of a small island. Behind me is a rickety-looking building; in front of me, a huge stretch of bright green grass and then a cluster of paddocks in the distance, and behind that, a large red barn. On my left is a copse of trees. On my right, another huge stretch of green and then forest. Across the clearing, which I am starting to realize is quite square, are a bunch of gardens and behind those, loosely spread trees. If I squint, I think I can see hammocks between said trees.

"This is beautiful," I breathe.

"This is a death trap." Newt heads towards the forest. I jog after him, one hand on the knife in my belt. "Why do you say that?"

He points to our right. A huge stone wall, looking to be a mile high and covered with vines near the top, looms over the clearing. There's a large break in the wall, and some sort of corridor, with other corridors branching off.

"That's the Maze," I whisper, fascinated. I don't know why it appeals to me. It looks amazing. Ha. A-MAZE-ing. Very funny.

I take a step towards the Maze, intoxicated by the harsh light and stone. Newt darts in front of me. "Don't go in there." His eyes are wide with alarm and struck through with seriousness.

"Why not?" I blurt.

"It's against the rules." He glares at me. "Only the buggin' Runners are allowed in the Maze, ever. You'll just get lost or . . . yeah. So don't go in there."

Something in his tone tells me to listen.

"I won't," I say.

He starts for the trees again, this time on my right, where the Maze is.

"What's in there? Why shouldn't I go in there?" I ask, blurting out my curiosity.

"You don't want ta know," he says darkly.

"I just asked you," I say. "Doesn't that mean that yes, I do want to know?"

"Trust me on this." He glares at the nearing trees. "You don't want ta know."

He's limping. Why's he limping? I glance down at his legs. He's favoring one. Definitely a limp. I touch his shoulder. "Newt . . ."

He shrugs my hand off and picks up the pace. I take this not-so-veiled-hint to shut the hell up and follow him into the trees in silence. He threads through them deftly, and I get the feeling that he could walk this place with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back.

After a few minutes, we reach a three-or-four-foot wide stream. Newt nods at it, voice distant when he speaks. "Go ahead."

I take a few sips, then sit back on my heels next to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine."

It doesn't feel polite to dig deeper, seeing as I've just met this guy, but there's something about the way he's currently holding himself that makes me want to help. "Are you sure?"

"Drink your shuckin' water," he says tiredly.

I obligingly take a few more sips.

"Say, what's your name?" Newt asks. "It doesn't feel right callin' you Greenie, but . . ."

I lift my head from the stream and a word tears from my lips. "Rose."

"Rose?" He eyes me carefully. "You don't look like a Rose."

"You don't look like a newt," I reply. "For one, you don't have orange skin—"

"Shut it," Newt says, but the corners of his mouth are twitching. "So, Rosie, do ya—"

"Rose," I correct.

He gives me a mischievous grin. "Too late now."

I roll my eyes.

"Anyway," Newt says. "Do ya wanna have a tour of the Glade, or not really?"

I cup water in my hands and splash my face with it, then smooth down my hair. It's probably getting frizzy, and it'll just be frizzy about thirty seconds from now, but that can't be helped. "Not really. I want to know exactly what this place is."

Newt shakes his head. "We don't know either, exactly."

"I need the story."

He leans back on his elbows, his feet dangling over the edge of the bank he's on. "The whole story?"

I nod.

He stays silent, collecting his thoughts. Finally, just as I'm about to prompt him, he speaks. "About four years ago, Alby came to in the Box, the same thing you and Tommy came up in. He had ta survive all alone, up in this shuckin', bloody Glade and the shuckin', bloody Maze, for a month. Then I came. It wasn't until the tenthish Glader arrived that we erected a set of rules, started ta accept that we'd hafta stay here forever. The civilization grew as we did, and now you're here, just another addition." He frowns. "I wonder if they're gonna start sending up girls. Ta . . . you know, mate."

I breathe out through my mouth, relieved he didn't say "breed". That would have been offensive. "How do things work here? Like, what are the rules?"

"You've already got one," Newt says, shifting his weight to one elbow so he can drag a hand through his hair. "There's basically only three. One: don't go in the Maze unless you're a Runner. Two: do your part. And three: never harm another Glader."

Then shouldn't Gally be screwed, because he hurt me? I watch the water in the stream run over the rocks. "I can follow those rules. How do I do my part?"

Newt stands up. It's like a ballerina unfolding, his movements slow but sure and almost graceful. I blink hard and jump to my feet. "Where are we going?"

Newt glances at the sky, checking the time. "I'll show ya around the camp. If you're hydrated, that is."

I bend down and take one last cupped-handful of water, draining it and not caring when a few drops escape my mouth, traveling down my neck. "I am."

We start walking.

"There're about a dozen jobs around the Glade," Newt says. "The bosses of those jobs are called Keepers. There are Runners, Slicers, Cooks, Track-Hoes, Builders, Med-Jacks, Baggers, Sloppers, and Bricknicks." He glances sideways at me, as though here is where I ask a question.

"Baggers?" I say.

"Bag up the dead guys."

Oh. Okay. Just toss it out there like that, Newt. I won't care. Ew, that is gross. "Ohhhhhhhkay. Sloppers?"

"They do the dirty stuff," Newt says. "Cleanin' the bathroom and toilets, sloppin' the klunk."

"Med-Jacks are the nurse dudes?"

"Bingo."

"Slicers?"

"Slaughterhouse, basically," Newt says, his expression darkening a fraction. "Butchers. Not my favorite."

"Track-Hoes?"

"Gardeners." The dark expression on his face vanishes. "I hang out there the most, when I'm not dealin' with everythin' else in the Glade."

I fish around for another question. "You said that only the Runners are allowed in the Maze. What do they do, run around in it?"

"Dead on," Newt says. He gives me an appreciative look. "Bloody smart and calm for a Greenie, you know. Are you just hidin' how scared you are?"

"Nope," I say, shaking my head. "I'm just pretty calm." Funny, now that he says it I feel like I should be freaking out. I start breathing hard, then let out a piercing scream and shoot backwards, whirling and scrambling up a tree at the last second. Newt jumps about three feet in the air, eyes going wide. "Whoa, Rosie—"

"Who are you?" I shout, glaring at him and snapping a stick off the branch I'm crouched on.

"I'm Newt," he says carefully, holding palm-out hands up. "I'm not goin' ta hurt ya."

I can't hold in my laughter. I literally fall out of the tree I'm laughing so hard, but when I hit the ground I don't feel anything snap, so I'm fine. As I'm rolling around in the dirt, clutching at my stomach, Newt frowns and steps back, then rolls his eyes, pressing a palm to his heart. "Bloody shuckin' hell, Rosie. Not cool."

Thomas skids into the clearing where we are, eyes snapping around as he spins in a circle, scoping out the forest. A shortish, plump kid with curly brown hair and cheery blue eyes runs up, panting. "How many times do I have to tell you, Greenbean, there are no girl . . ." He sees me and stops.

"No girls in the Glade, huh, Chuck?" Newt says.

Thomas drops to his knees beside me. "Are you okay?" He helps me sit up even though I don't need it, and I push him away in frustration. "Go away, Thomas. I'm fine. Played a joke on Newt is all."

"Damn near gave me a bloody heart attack," Newt says, his palm dropping from his chest. "Greenie, your sister is a right shuckin' clown."

The curly haired kid's eyes go wider. "Thomas, she's your sister?"

"Both of you, shuck off." Newt offers me a hand and I shove it to the side, rising by myself. "I dislike sexism, you know."

"Whoop-de-doo," Newt says sarcastically. "I'm serious, you two," he adds to Thomas and the kid, who I think he called Chuck.

"I have a right to stay here," Thomas protests, voice hard.

"I'm fine, Thomas." I lay a hand on his arm. "Really. Go hang out, take a walk."

He stares at me. "How are you so calm?"

A faint smile tugs at my lips. "I don't know."

Reluctantly, Thomas walks away, with Chuck trailing after him and sneaking obvious glances at me.

"That was weird," Newt observes.

"Who's the short kid?" I ask, just to make sure I know who he is.

"Chuck," Newt says. His eyes soften. "He's a Slopper. Poor kid. I'd give 'im a different job, but he's not good at anythin' else."

I bite my lip.

I get a closer look at the gardens, which are quiet and peaceful, and the slaughterhouse (big red barn), which is just the opposite, with bloodstained flooring and the reek of rotting animal parts. I nearly throw up when we walk in, the stench is so overwhelming. When we exit I scrape my skin with my fingernails. "God, that was terrible. Can I go submerge myself in acid for three years to clean myself?"

"Mind if I join ya?" Newt says.

"Be my guest."

"NEWT!"

Alby's standing in the doorway of what Newt says is the Homestead, waving his arms. "OVER HERE, SHUCK-FACE! BEN'S GOING CRAZY!"

Newt breaks into a stuttering run. I jog alongside him, trying not to rub in the fact that he can go half as fast as me. "Who's Ben? Why's he going crazy?"

"Shut it," Newt grunts, and this time there's no smile to soften the words. I blink but keep pace with him anyway. Alby stops me in the doorway. "You can't come in."

"Alby, use your shuckin' brain," Newt snaps. "Do you want to leave her to fend for herself in this place?"

Alby hesitates.

"Bloody shuckin' idiot," Newt hisses under his breath. He shoulders past Alby. "How's he goin' crazy?"

I slip past Alby, following Newt like some lost puppy. I don't know what to do. "Is there any way I can help?"

"Stay out of the way," Alby growls, passing me and taking the stairs two at a time. Newt follows, and I jog after them. I can't help but peek inside the room where I woke up. Gally's gone. I feel every muscle in my body tense up and I dart into the room that Newt and Alby go into, feeling nervous. Instantly I want to race back outside.

There's a bed, and a table beside it, some shelves ringing the room above head height. But that's not what makes me want to dive out the window. It's the boy on the bed.

He's deathly pale, skin whiter than snow. His eyelids are purple and swollen, his mouth blue. Greenish blue veins are standing out in his skin. And he's going absolutely insane, spasming around on the bed, arching his back against the leather restraints on his wrists and ankles. He's going to pop his arms out of his sockets if he doesn't stop soon.

The restraints on Ben's legs snap. His foot slams Alby (who has been trying to get near him) in the jaw and the teen flies backwards into the wall, slumping to the floor.

Newt flings himself across Ben's chest. "Get his legs!"

I stare, shock freezing my muscles.

"NOW!"

I hesitate for a split second longer, then dive onto Ben's feet, pinning them beneath my stomach. I lock my fingers around the bedframe. It starts shuddering. "We need help!"

"I know," Newt grunts. One of Ben's fists slams into his kidney repeatedly. Newt grows paler with each blow but stays put. "Go—get—Minho—" he grunts out.

"Who's Minho?"

"Keeper of the Runners." Ben's other hand breaks free and starts raining hits on Newt's shoulders. Ben himself is screaming obscenities and it's obvious that he's fully aware of his violent actions. He kicks my stomach, hard, knocking the breath out of me for the third or fourth time today. Sorry if I don't keep track.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" I wheeze.

"Go!"

I spring off Ben, barely ducking a heavily booted foot, spin, and crash out the door. I scramble down the stairs, knowing I can't leave Newt to face the psychotic boy upstairs alone for too long or he'll end up like Alby.

Hanging around in the room with the door to the Glade are a few boys, one of whom is Gally. I ball my hands into fists. I can fight him if necessary. "Where's Minho?"

Gally smirks, taking a few menacing steps towards me and looming over me.

All of a sudden I am completely fed up with him. I wallop him in the jaw, then spin and slam my boot into his sternum. I don't know exactly what comes after this, but I end up kneeling on top of his chest, pressing my forearm into his throat. "Where. Is. Minho?"

Gally chokes out "the gardens" and I'm on my feet, bursting out the door. I pause for a split second, then shoot across the Glade for gardens. As I near I start shouting. "MINHO! MINHOOOOO!"

I slow down. "MINHO!"

A thick, muscled Asian kid of at least sixteen skids around the corner. "What the shuck do you—holy klunk nuggets!"

"So what," I snarl. "I'm a girl. Get over it and c'mere." I jerk my head towards the Homestead.

He crosses his arms.

"It's Ben." I put as much force into my tone as possible. "He's going crazy and it's just Newt up there."

If he's surprised by my familiarity with the Glade, he doesn't show it. "Why the shuck did you even leave?" he demands, and breaks into a run.

I keep pace with him more easily than I thought I would. "To get you, idiot!"

He glances at me and runs faster. I push harder against the ground to catch up. He smirks, then bolts off, running faster than humanly possible towards the Homestead.

An equally smug smirk crosses my face and the next thing I know, I'm whirling past him in a rush of wind and kicked up grass and dirt. My muscles start straining and I know this is as fast as I can go. Minho catches up, grinning despite the confusion tingeing his eyes. "You're shuck fast," he exclaims.

I shrug while running (I have no idea how I manage it). "Thanks. Cool, I guess." The door to the Homestead nears; when I show no signs of stopping, Minho falls back half a step. I nearly break down the door in my haste to get in—I fly past Gally and his cronies, who look shocked to see me back so soon, and bound up the stairs three at a time. I burst into Ben's room. He's still flailing and hailing blows on Newt, who is glassy-eyed and dazed-looking from pain but trying to help Ben nonetheless. I dive onto the crazed boy's legs, hoping Minho knows what to do.

Newt glances at me, the glassiness of his eyes fading a bit. "Fancy meetin' ya here."

"So strange," I reply, and duck as Minho leaps over my head, landing knee-first on Ben's shoulders. He stabs a wicked-looking needle into Ben's neck. After a few more flails the boy goes limp. Minho and I scramble off. Newt drags himself up slowly, looking pained and angry. Now that he's not being bounced around by some crazy dude, I can tell he's bleeding in several places.

"Bloody shuck-faced shuckin' slinthead," he growls, glowering at Ben. "I hate it when these jacked klunk-butts decide to get shuckin' stung by shuckin' Grievers."

I want to ask what a Griever is, but this is obviously not the time. And Newt's not done talking either.

"Minho, get the Med-Jacks in here and Alby out," he says. He gingerly touches his lower back and hisses through clenched teeth. "Kidneys . . ."

"Sit," I say, gesturing at the floor.

Newt gives me a confused look that is way too exaggerated: then he says, "Ulbushfapiw?" and cups his ear, smiling a little.

I laugh, ignoring a "WHAT THE HELL" look from Minho. "Just sit, you . . ." I search for a word and come up with the one he used when talking about Gally. "Shank."

Newt grins at Minho and lowers himself to the floor stiffly. "She learns fast."

I get down on my knees. "Oh, yes. I learn way too fast." I move around behind Newt and he cranes his neck to look over his shoulder, see what I'm doing.

"Could I get a look at your back, please?" I say.

"Go ahead," Newt says, looking at Minho, who quirks an eyebrow. They're obviously communicating with facial expressions. I wait for a moment, then sigh. "Could you take off your shirt?"

"If that's what you want." I can hear the smirk in his voice, and Minho gives a fleeting evil grin. Newt unstraps the sheath over his shoulder and pulls his dirty, once-white shirt off over his head.

Minho smirks. "I'll get the Med-Jacks," he says, even though Newt already gave that order. He hoists Alby up and drags him out of the room with him. Newt sheds his brownish-reddish-orangeish tank top and sits there, holding himself awkwardly with one shoulder lower than the other, probably because of his kidneys.

His back is crisscrossed with old, silvery scars, marring the slight tan that spreads across his skin. Approximately where his kidneys are is turning purply-bluey-black, a spread of vicious bruising. Up by his elbow are three thick scratches, spilling blood. They look like someone dragged their fingernails over his skin over and over again. Ben probably did.

I stare at the scars, inexplicably moved by them. Imagine what he must have gone through, how he got them . . .

I blink. Focus, Rose. I take a deep breath, preparing for an elbow or knee in the stomach or face, and gently prod at his bruises. Newt hisses in pain, his head whipping around to level a freezing-cold death glare at me. I shrug and move his elbow out of the way, getting a closer look at the scratches. If I look hard enough, I can see flecks of dirt and grime on the edges. It'll need to be cleaned and bandaged. With clean bandages. The bruises will go away on their own time, but to ease the pain—if he wants too—he'll have to ice them.

"Well?" Newt says. "What's your analysis, Doctor Rosie?"

Does he even know that his back has so many scars? Does he care?

I put my chin on his shoulder, speaking into his ear. "Call me Rosie one more time and I'll do this." I brutally knuckle one of his bruises. He jerks upright, letting out a yelp that cracks in the middle. When he recovers enough to speak, he spins around and glares at me. "Bloody hell, Rosie! That was not cool."

I try not to look at his bare, finely-toned, muscled chest. "Sorry. Had to get the point across."

He gives me a dirty look. "I'm sure it was so necessary."

I roll my eyes.

The door opens and three or four boys come in, gawking at me, then tearing their eyes away when Newt snaps at them. One speaks timidly to me, his face filled with awe, gesturing at Newt. "He—"

"Clean the scratches and put bandages on them," I say, trying to soften my tone and failing miserably. "Ice for the bruises, maybe clean up his face. I kicked him. Accidentally."

The boy, probably one of the Med-Jacks, runs off to get supplies. I hand Newt his shirts and stand up, moving to the wall where I won't be in the way. Newt pulls on his shirts and restraps his empty knife sheath, Minho whispering in his ear. Newt nods, murmurs something back, and turns to Ben's bed. Minho beckons for me to follow him. I hesitate, but go with him. Newt obviously trusts him, so I probably can too.

Minho leads me out of the Homestead. I glance around the Glade. Judging by the growing shadows, which are climbing up the walls, it's around six o'clock.

"Where are we going?" I ask, wondering how I can have such an accurate, immediate sense of time.

"To visit the unicorns," Minho says, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"Yeah, aren't you such a clever guy," I say scathingly. "Ha ha, let's play a joke on the new kid. Well guess what, slinthead? Your sense of humor—not all that humorous."

Minho shoots me a surprised look. Maybe no one's ever talked to him like that, maybe he didn't think that someone as small as me was able to pull off such an acerbic attitude. Then the expression clears. "To get food. Aren't you hungry?"

The second he mentions it, I smell barbecue and my stomach growls. I nod. "Food sounds great." Not just great, but terrific. Astounding. I need more energy or I'll start biting everyone's head off, literally and figuratively.

Minho jerks his head at a stretch of wall covered in what looks like names, crudely carved into the stone. "Go sit over there and I'll get us some chow. Nom-noms. Whatever the shuck you wanna call it." He turns and strides away without waiting for me to answer.

A wire of nervousness tightens in my stomach. I don't think Newt intended for me to sit by myself for five minutes when he told Minho to stay with me. Leaving me alone is not one of the greater ideas mankind has ever had. Not in a Glade full of boys who've probably never seen a girl in their life.

My fingers wrap one by one around the hilt of Newt's knife, still stuck in my belt, as I stride with fake confidence across the grass separating me and the wall. As I near the stone, I realize that yes, there are names in it, and more than half are crossed out.

The people who've died.

I don't feel like eating anymore, but I sit down, making myself comfortable in the longer grass by the wall. Even if I don't feel like eating, I have to keep my strength up.

And my guard.

Minho joins me approximately three minutes later, with two plates of barbecue chicken and cornbread, two cups of water, and a Mason jar of suspicious-looking amber liquid. He leans back against the wall, handing me my plate, and stares up at the sky. "It's been a shuck long day."

"Don't I know it," I mutter.

He looks sideways at me. I pretend not to notice, lifting a piece of chicken to my mouth.

"We've never had a girl in the Glade before," he says.

"I figured," I say.

"Everyone's going to be encroaching on your personal space."

"I figured."

"If you need help, don't hesitate to ask," Minho says, and I'm about to explode at him that I can take care of myself when he adds, "But ask the right person."

"And who would that be?" I say.

"Me," he says. "Newt, Alby."

Surprisingly short list. "What about Thomas and Chuck?"

"Yes Chuck, and who's Thomas?"

"The guy I came up in the Box with, slinthead," I say, my tone caustic for the second time in five minutes.

Minho smirks. "Yeah, him too."

He's silent for the rest of the meal and I am too, picking up on his "I'm too exhausted to talk" mood. I'm not surprised he's tired. If he's Keeper of the Runners, as Newt said earlier, then he's probably the last Runner to come back from doing whatever they do in the Maze.

When we're walking across the dusky Glade to the kitchen, Minho finally speaks. "Have you freaked out yet? Cried?"

"Excuse me," I say. "Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I spend half my life crying about tragic stuff. I'm just as sane and smart and strong and fast and durable as you are." I shake my head. "It's so sad. A single pair of breasts and people assume the worst."

Minho shuts his mouth, looking faintly embarrassed. I hide a smirk. Mention girl body parts and guys shut up like a clam. At least, most guys do.

We give our dishes back to Frypan, a dark-skinned guy of maybe fifteen with hair sprouting from every visible part of his body. He doesn't even stare at me, although that might be because he's serving six other Gladers when Minho and I return our dishes.

Newt joins us as we're leaving the kitchen. "How're you two doing?"

"Good," I say, trying to suppress the relief that washes over me at the sight of his face. I don't know why I'm relieved; maybe because the last time I saw him he was hunched over in pain, maybe because I don't fully trust Minho. I feel my shoulders relax.

If I don't trust Minho, does that mean I do trust Newt?

I shouldn't trust anyone.

Not Minho.

Not Newt.

Not even Thomas.

"Rosie?" Newt prompts.

I realize I've been staring over his shoulder at the walls of the Maze and snap my attention back to him. "Sorry?"

"We need ta find ya a place ta sleep," Newt says.

I don't know what comes over me, but suddenly I'm snapping at him like some sort of deranged shark. "Why? You gonna sleep with me? It's not even dark, but nice try, you damn shuck-faced slinthead! I can see right through your crappy pickup lines. Go try them on someone who actually cares."

Minho's eyebrows shoot skyward. Newt looks horrified. "What—where did that come from? Rose, I'm tryin' ta help—"

"By getting me pregnant?" I snarl. My thoughts are wild, confused. I am this close from stabbing both of them and running into the Maze. "Oh, hell yes, because that'll help! Sure, off with the clothes—"

"Rose!" Newt grabs my shoulders and shakes me violently. "Shut up!"

I'm lifting my foot to stomp on his kneecap when a huge boom thunders through the air, followed by a dark rumbling, the grating of stone on stone.

There are doors to the Maze, and they're closing.

"Oh, shuck," Minho mutters.

I slam my foot into Newt's kneecap, spin, and take off at full speed for the forest, terror spiking through me with each footstep. Deep in my mind, my logical self is asking me why I'm running, why I'm freaking out, but I can't listen to it. The fear and stress and anxiety I've been ignoring the entire time I've been here is surging up, rebelling against my mental barriers.

My feet carry me into the forest.

I run until I slam into the corner of two walls, the blow softened by soft ivy. I scale the nearest tree and straddle a high branch, trying to keep my breathing quiet even though I'm close to having a panic attack. My lungs are begging for air, but I can only get it in long, slow breaths, not harsh pants. Breathing like you've just been running for sixteen hours straight generally is noticeable.

I bite anxiously at my fingernails, waiting for Minho or Newt—hell, maybe even Thomas—to run into the clearing beneath me and see me. But as my breathing slows, my heart stops its palpitations, and my sudden flare of angered fear fades, no one comes after me.

I lean back against the trunk of the tree, staring up through the leaves at the stars, which have come out. The rumbling's stopped, it stopped long ago, while I was still crouching like a startled monkey. That has to have been at least half an hour ago.

It hits me.

I'm stuck here.

Possibly for the rest of my life.

Stuck in a Glade full of sick boys (sick being disgusting in every possible way sick not ill sick).

I can never let my guard down.

Not once.

Gally will always be a threat.

Rape will always be a threat.

I will never be able to relax.

I will always be stared at.

Like some animal in a zoo.

This.

Is.

Hell.

 **Sorry for the wait, dearies! I had a lot going on and this is a pretty long chapter (seventeen pages!). I will try to update more on time from now on. I hope you enjoyed and please tell me what you think!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the wait, and sorry if there are any mistakes. There's no chapter title on here because I'm too lazy to name them. Hehe . . . Enjoy!**

 **CHAPTER THREE**

 **ROSE**

I wake up to bright sunlight, a thick belt around my middle, and warmth of several blankets.

I sit up groggily, rubbing sleep from my eyes. The belt is keeping me strapped to the tree branch, the same one I fell asleep on last night after an hour of resigned dread. The blankets are underneath it, and one's tucked carefully around my shoulders. One of the Gladers must have found me last night. How sweet of them.

I unbuckle the belt and sling it over my arm, along with the blankets. I climb down to the leaf mulch and look around, getting my bearings. Somehow I know that to my left is west, in front of me is north. If I head northeast, I'll get out of the forest.

I sigh. Do I want to get out of the forest?

Do your part. Newt's voice rings through my mind as clearly as if he's standing next to me. I roll my eyes heavenward and start the walk out of the forest. I've got no idea where to find anyone, but if I head to the gardens someone's bound to give me a job. Right?

I drop the blankets off by the door to the Homestead, wishing I could say thanks in a note, but since there's no paper I can't. Then I head to the gardens, my hand sore from holding onto the hilt of Newt's knife—which I should probably give back—so tightly. When I get there, the Keeper introduces himself as Zart—making me want to call him Zart the Fart so bad—and pushes me toward a garden bed, telling me to weed every single weed out or he'll throw me over the wall of the Maze. I set to work quickly and soon lose myself in the hand movements, which are familiar. Maybe from my past life?

Before I know it, it's lunchtime. Zart tells me I've done well and sends me off to get a sandwich or something. No sign of Newt, Thomas, or Minho. As for Alby . . . well, he doesn't seem like the most trustworthy person, despite what Minho said about going to him for help. The stress of being leader has probably messed up his brain.

Frypan gives me a sandwich, which I scarf down. Then, since lunch break is still happening, I help him hand out food. It goes twice as fast with two people, and I even wash some dishes before returning to the gardens. Even if I don't like it here, I'm determined to stay on everyone's good side.

Failed with that on Minho's and Newt's account.

Zart, I think, loves me, because I'm excellent at weeding. "Tomorrow," he says, when sending me off to rest in the afternoon because I'm tripping over my own feet trying to move from garden bed to garden bed, "you're promoted."

"Cool," I say, and wander off. I head to the outskirts of the garden, where the flowers are. I drop to the ground and sit back, leaning against a trellis. I am so damn tired. Every muscle in my body is aching; my head feels like someone's trying to climb out the top. That's most likely dehydration. The physical exhaustion is most likely due to me running back and forth to the tool shed for half the time I've been working here, the other half from washing dishes and a large fight with a large weed.

"Hey, who cleaned up Bed 21?"

I don't realize I'm starting to stand at the sound of Newt's voice behind me until my head smacks into a large squash, which somehow is clinging to the trellis. I quickly fling myself back onto the ground, butt first.

"Oh," says Zart in reply to Newt, "that was the girl. Rose, I think she said her name was. She looked like she needed something to do. Sorry, were you going to do something with that bed?"

Newt likes to garden, I think, half surprised.

"I was gonna chop the Big Weed out," Newt responds, voice faint with confusion.

"Oh, man, you should have seen her fight with that thing." Laughter softens Zart's tone. "It was extremely funny. It was like two wild animals attacking each other. She got so many scratches during it, but I don't think she noticed. Made her look sexy, in my opinion. She won out eventually, going at the thing with something that looked a lot like your knife. Then she dug the roots out, too. It was impressive."

"Huh," Newt says, coldly. He probably didn't like the sexy comment. "Well . . . okay, I guess. Need any ditches dug?"

"Could you keep working on the one you were yesterday, before the Box alarm?" Zart asks, getting Newt's don't say anything like that ever again hint.

"Sure." I hear footsteps and want to shrink into the trellis. I don't want to face him. It's going to be so embarrassing.

How the hell do I apologize?

NEWT

I grab a shovel from a pile of tools and walk over to the trench I started yesterday. As I'm walking past the squash trellises, I see a dark figure sitting at the foot, head tipped back, eyes closed, breathing slowly. For a second, I think she's asleep, but then she opens her eyes. I can't stop myself from staring for a second. As much as I hate to admit it, Zart was right. The scratches on her face and neck and arms do make her look sexy. Beautiful. Wild. Free.

"Hi," she says, voice thick with embarrassment.

"Hi," I reply, slightly wary. Is she going to spit things at me like she did yesterday? I wouldn't blame her, but those ideas were a little . . . far-fetched. At the same time, though, they weren't. Most of the boys in this place wouldn't hesitate to have sex with her.

"Look," she says, standing up and brushing off her pants, not really looking at me. "I . . . I'm sorry, about what I said yesterday. I hope you know I didn't mean it." She frowns a little. "Well, then I did, I think, but now I don't."

"Yeah," I say, but it must come off as a bit too sardonic, because she sighs, rolls her eyes. "I understand that you don't like me anymore, and I'm sorry about what I said yesterday, and I'm sorry for weeding your shucking garden bed." She starts to walk off, chin high. I grab her arm and spin her around. She arranges her face into a defiant expression, but not before I see the dejection, embarrassment, and small flame of anger in her eyes.

"It's okay," I say, with all the conviction I can muster. "It's bloody okay, got it? As Minho said later, ya freaked out. Everyone does, eventually. Everyone breaks down. What ya said, it's natural for ya to suspect it."

She blinks, her long eyelashes brushing her cheeks. "Cool, I guess. Was it you who found me last night?"

"Thomas, actually," I say. "He helped Minho and I search the forest after ya ran off. You're lucky to have a sibling, ya know. Makes everything way easier."

She smiles and draws me in for a quick, awkward hug. "Thanks, Newt."

ROSE

Wow.

That went way easier than I thought it would.

I step back from Newt, hoping my embarrassment at affection isn't showing on my face, and at that second I hear a shout.

"HELP!"

Newt spins, hands sliding up his shovel until he holds it like a staff. "What was that," he says tensely.

The shout comes again, from the forest.

"Oh my God," I exclaim, recognizing the voice. "Thomas!"

I break into a run, but before I can make it four steps he bursts from the trees, eyes wide with terror, and he's obviously running as fast as possible. On his heels is Ben, who has somehow gotten out of the Homestead. Duh.

As I watch, my feet glued to the spot, Thomas stumbles. Ben leaps on him like a tiger leaping on its prey, slamming him into the ground, straddling him, and wrapping his hands around his neck.

My hand flies to my mouth. "Thomas—"

"Rose, move!"

This from Newt. I back up to his side. Alby's next to him, aiming a large, loaded longbow at Ben's face. "Ben! Get off!"

He doesn't.

Alby shoots him in the cheek. I barely manage to stifle the urge to throw up; even Newt looks slightly sickened. Nonetheless the two of them jog over to the two equally blood-spattered boys. I follow and drop like a stone next to Thomas, propping him up as soon as Ben's off him. "Breathe, Thomas. Breathe!"

For a few seconds, it looks as though he can't, and I start to panic. Then he sucks in a huge, shuddering breath, and my head drops with relief. "My God, Thomas . . ."

"Bloody shank," Newt says from behind me. "What the shuck was he doin' out?"

"I dunno," Thomas says, voice rasping. Newt drops his flask in Thomas's lap for him to drink from and turns to Alby, who's checking Ben's pulse. Alby mutters some unintelligible curses. "He's still alive." He shouts for a few Track-Hoes to help him get Ben's limp form out of there. "We'll lock him in the Slammer overnight and Banish him tomorrow," he says. "Gladers don't harm each other, even if they're Greenie Gladers." He shoots Thomas a look and hoists Ben's body up, along with the two Track-Hoes that came at his call. I help my brother to his feet, wrap my arm around his waist. He's trembling, from what seems to be a combination of confusion, fear, and shock. I give Newt an apologetic look, which he nods understandingly at, and stick to Thomas's side like glue for the rest of the day. I have to help him eat, even. I sit next to his hammock until he falls asleep tonight, then scale the tree and tie myself to the branch above him. I'm not leaving him. Ever. Siblings stick together.

The next morning I wake up late. Thomas's hammock is empty. He probably was dragged out to participate in Glade work. I grab a slice of bread from the kitchen—Frypan doesn't mind, I'm on his good list now—and see Thomas and Newt standing in front of the barn, which I have heard called the Blood House. Because that's exactly what Thomas needs right now.

I reach him and Newt in time for Newt to turn to him and sigh, exasperated. "Are ya even listenin' ta a word I say?"

I hover behind them, unsure of what to do.

"Yeah, sorry," Thomas says, appearing to snap himself out of a daze. "Couldn't sleep last night."

Neither of them have seen me yet. It's like eavesdropping but in plain sight.

"Can't blame ya there," Newt says, smiling. I can't decide if the smile is sympathetic or pathetic. "Went through the buggin' ringer, ya did. Probably think I'm a slinthead for making ya work your butt off today after goin' through somethin' like that, huh?"

Thomas shrugs. "Work's probably the best thing I can do. Anything to get my mind off it."

"You're as smart as ya look, Tommy," Newt says. "That's one of the reasons we run this place all nice and busylike. Ya get lazy, ya get sad. Start givin' up. Plain and simple."

Thomas nods, kicking at a rock with one foot. There's dried blood on his neck, where it slopes down to his shoulders before being hidden by his shirt. It makes Ben's bloody face pop into my head again. My knees buckle as I clamp a hand over my mouth, begging through watery eyes to not throw up. Oh, gross, gross. Something tells me I've seen worse, but this is different. He attacked—hurt—my brother. Thomas is still limping.

"Rosie?" Newt says, noticing me. "Are ya okay?"

I feel a warm hand on my back, but can still see Newt's shoes. An arm wraps around my shoulder. "Hey, hey," Thomas says, voice quiet and next to my ear. "It's fine."

"I know," I force out, trying to sound confident. "I just . . ." I look up at Newt, who's watching with concerned eyes. "Maybe he doesn't work in the Blood House today?"

Newt's face softens. "I wish, Rosie. But sometimes ya just hafta push the bad stuff away and work."

"Don't feel worried for me." Thomas turns my chin towards him. "I'll be okay."

"This from the guy who spent more than half of the day yesterday staring out into space and shaking constantly," I snap before I can stop myself. The sexism in this Glade! My God!

"This from the girl who blacked out before she even saw the Glade the day before yesterday," Thomas retorts icily.

"This from the idiot who wandered into the forest alone to check out the graveyard," I growl.

"This from the idiot who accused Newt of trying to have sex with her and then ran into the forest at night," Thomas hisses.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, both of ya bloody buggers," Newt says, forcing the two of us apart. "Shuck it, you can't be always goin' at each other's bloody throats!"

"That's the first time," I spit, still angered.

"No it's not," Thomas exclaims, face incredulous.

"Yes, it is, you freaking shuck—" I'm cut off when Newt clamps his hand over my mouth. "Shut it, both of you," he orders. "Rose, go work in the gardens or somethin'. Thomas, come with me." He literally drags Thomas into the Blood House.

Shuck-face.

I head off to the gardens. Newt joins me about ten minutes later, wordlessly sets to work on the same garden bed I'm planting in. It seems like forever until he speaks. "Pass the clippers, please."

I automatically look over at him and notice that there's a pair of clippers on his other side. "You already have clippers."

He blinks, then sighs. "I meant the trowel."

"I'm using it," I say, carefully clipping a dead stem from the tomato plant I'm working on.

"No, you're not," he says.

I grin. "Oh, sorry, I meant the clippers." I hand him the trowel with a wicked look. He's grinning. "Ha, ha, very funny."

"I'm a regular clown." I pluck out a weed and chuck it at him without looking. Judging by the spluttering that follows, the leafy part and the dirt hits him in the face. I hold in a snort as he turns an accusing glare to me. "Was that you?"

"Was what you?" I ask, doing my best to act innocent, and burst out laughing as I realize I said "was what you" instead of "was what me". He sits there with a "really" look on his face, but as I keep laughing it's clear that it's getting harder for him to hold in a smile.

At last I stop laughing and we move to the other side of the garden bed. We work in peace for a while, enjoying each other's company (at least I hope) but not needing to talk.

Then, as I'm sighing in content, I get a whole bunch of dirt tossed into my mouth. Instantly I spit most of it out, then toss my trowel to the side and tackle Newt, taking him by surprise. I manage to pin him down—mostly because he's laughing so much—and straddle his ribcage. I sprinkle dirt on his face, both of us laughing so hard we can barely breathe. What follows next is a dirt war, with us digging up half the garden bed because we're desperate for dirt. We'll probably get in trouble later, but since he doesn't seem to care, I don't either.

We end up sprawled on the ground, chuckling and tossing little sprays of soil into each other's faces, my feet up by the corner of the garden bed we were working on and his by the one just to the left of it (from my perspective; I'm facing him).

"This is the most fun I had in ages," Newt says, breathing hard. I watch his chest rise and fall a few times before answering, "I don't know when I last had fun, but let's just say I feel the same way."

And then Zart sees what we've done. We spend the rest of the morning trying to clean up the garden bed we destroyed.

:X:

Around lunchtime, I'm walking towards the Box, and past that, the kitchen, when Minho streaks from the West Door of the Maze, stopping three steps into the Glade. He bends over, placing his hands on his knees. Even from this far away I can see the sweat on his face, in his hair, staining his shirt.

Then he falls over.

Thomas rushes past me, shouting for me to get Alby or Newt. I snap a mocking salute at him, see Minho grin at me, obviously amused by my sarcasm, and then I run for Alby. I saw Alby less than five minutes, and I have no idea where Newt is. We split up just before lunchtime when Zart asked him to get some sort of fancy tool to prune the squash vine with or something.

I catch sight of Alby entering the Homestead and take off towards him, running so fast my feet barely touch the ground. "Alby!"

He doesn't hear me.

"ALBYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" I scream, cupping my hands around my mouth. He stops and turns. I skid up to him, ignoring the close-to-hateful look on his face, and point over to Minho. "Minho's back from the Maze—probably needs to tell you something."

He nods shortly. "Get some water for him." We split up, me going to the kitchen, him jogging to where Minho is collapsed on the ground.

"Hey, Frypan!" I call, trotting into the kitchen. "Got any water bottles?"

He tosses me one that's full, with a hardly warning "give it back". I turn and race back out, tossing a thank you over my shoulder at him. When I reach Thomas, Alby, and Minho, I've only handed Minho the water bottle when Alby snaps at me to go find Newt.

"As you wish, El Capitané," I say, snapping a mock salute for the second time in as many minutes. Before he can get mad at me I sprint off. First I check the gardens—Newt's not there. Then I check the Homestead. Not there either. On a whim I check the Blood House, but the Keeper of the Slicers, Winston, says he hasn't been there since this morning when he dropped Thomas off. He's not where the hammocks are, either. I'm reluctant to go into the forest, unrealistically scared, my brain churning up What Ifs. What if Ben's in there again? What if Gally's in there? What if one of those Griever things is there? What if . . . what if . . . what if . . .

Shut up, Rose. You can think up terrible situations later. I force aside the fear and run into the forest. Now that it's around noon I can tell how quickly the light fades. I pause, look up through the thick canopy. Then I keep running. I haven't run ten more steps when I slam bodily into someone. I fall backwards and judging by the crackle of dead leaves, whoever the shuck I ran into fell also. I can't see who they are.

I don't speak, just spring to my feet and unsheathe the knife still stuck in my belt. I really have to give it back to Newt at some point.

"Who's that?" Gally's voice snarls.

Or maybe I shouldn't give it back.

Never harm another Glader.

I count as a Glader now.

"I said, who's that?" Gally shouts.

I take a step backwards, my butt brushing a tree. Instantly I turn and climb up as fast as possible. I stay there, teeth gritted, for at least an hour. Then I go back to the garden. Of course, that's where Newt is. I shoot him a glare, he shoots me a "what the bloody hell" look, and we garden our separate ways.

That night, approximately half an hour before the Doors to the Maze are supposed to close, everyone gathers by the East Door. We wait for the recently-arrived Runners to get out of the Map Room, and as they're walking across the grass towards us, Alby shouts, "Bring him out!"

Oh.

This is about Ben's Banishment.

Alby had said they'd Banish him today.

Ben's literally dragged out from behind the Homestead, a bandage covering half his face. But from what I can see of his eyes, he's terrified. A stab of pity trickles through me, down my spine. And then I remember that he tried to strangle my brother. The pity evaporates.

Movement at the corner of my eye catches my attention: Newt is moving towards the tool shed for the Track-Hoes, even before Alby says, quiet, "Newt. Bring out the Pole."

The Pole? A freaking . . . never mind. I should know better than to question this shuck place's decisions.

Ben is forced to his feet in front of Alby, who looks at him gravely and says, "You brought this on yourself, Ben."

Newt returns from the shack holding a bunch of aluminum poles, shoving and screwing them together into one big pole, at the end of which is some loopy thing that I can't see yet. Dear God, this cannot be good.

Newt hands the now-all-connected pole-thing to Alby. I can see what the loopy thing is. It's a collar. A wave of nausea hits me, the strongest one I've had yet. I'm centimeters from throwing up, my stomach roiling inside me. But some sick fascination makes me watch as Alby wraps the collar around Ben's neck.

"Please, Alby," Ben pleads, face streaked with tears and snot. "I swear I was just sick in the head from the Changing. I never would have killed him—I just lost my mind for a second. Pease, Alby, please."

Where's Thomas.

He's bound to hate this.

I start squeezing through the crowd, searching for his dark brown hair. The boys that I pass give me disgusted, wary looks—they must think I want a front-row seat. Ha. As if.

I locate Thomas and slip up to his side. Although he doesn't say anything, his knuckles brush my forearm and that's all I need to know. He doesn't like this any more than I do.

Alby speaks in a way that suggests he's mocking ceremonious. "Ben of the Builders, you've been sentenced to Banishment for the attempted murder of Thomas the Newbie. The Keepers have spoken, and their word ain't changing. And you ain't coming back. Ever."

Thomas tenses visibly beside me. I slip my fingers through his, part for his comfort and part for my own. He shouldn't have to go through this. Alby shouldn't have made his connection to Ben so open, obvious.

Shut up. He needs to learn how to be strong.

He is strong. Thomas is very strong.

Shut up, you're missing the Banishment.

Right, because I totally want to see it.

Boys are trickling out of the crowd—among them are Newt, Minho, Zart, and the creepy Slicers Keeper, Winston. They all grasp the one big pole like they're getting ready for some sick, messed up game of tug-of-war. Once they're all spread out evenly between Ben and Alby, who is at the very end of the pole, everyone goes silent, aside from Ben's muffled sobs.

I know what that pole is for.

I know what they're going to do.

I can't stand it.

I can't stand them.

Any of them.

What happened to being strong?

I guess it got taken away with all my memories.

Thomas is staring at Ben, a wash of horror on his face.

I can't.

Can't—

Can't—

How is Newt—

Minho—

How are they—

Without realizing what I'm doing, I'm backing up, prying my fingers from Thomas, who doesn't even notice. I can't take their barbarity anymore. I stumble away from the terrible scene, a scream threatening to spill out of my mouth. If anyone notices that I'm leaving, they don't say anything. I don't need to watch this. I already know what they're going to do. I've seen it before. I don't know where, or when, but I've seen it before and I never want to see it again.

I reach the end of the crowd and break into a run, sure that someone will see me but not giving a shit about it. My feet take me to the gardens, through the rows of corn and wheat and vegetables to the back, where the apple orchard is, where the east and south walls meet. I shouldn't climb a tree, that would be damaging to the apples or what have you. All the shucking rules in this place . . .

I sit with my back pressed into the corner, my face tipped to the sky, blinking away tears.

I want to go home.

The second I think that I'm on my feet, slamming my fist into the stone beside me. "Shut up, Rosalyn! Stop thinking like that!"

Then I stop, because I'm nearly shouting, and I just called myself Rosalyn. That's a new development.

Be strong.

Be strong.

Be strong be strong—

I flop back to the ground, pressing my cheek into the soil, feeling like I'm waiting for something to happen or for someone to find me. I'm hoping it'll be Thomas.

But as the sky grows darker and as I hear footsteps, I know they're not Thomas's. Thomas sounds light, quick. It's not Newt, either—his footsteps are uneven, one softer than the other. These steps are heavy, exhausted-sounding.

"Rose?" It's Minho, and he sounds concerned. I keep silent, hoping he can't see me, hoping that he'll leave me alone.

His boot plants into the earth right in front of my face and he grips my shoulder. "Rose, are you okay?"

I blink.

"So you are okay."

No.

No.

Not okay.

I stand up abruptly, shrugging his hand off my shoulder. Without speaking a word I start walking towards the hammocks area. He doesn't deserve to hear me speak. Barbaric creature.

"Rose," Minho says, exasperated. "Come on, it was necessary."

"I'm not having this conversation with you," I snap.

"Yes, you are."

I shut my mouth. If I stop talking, it won't be a conversation. At least, it'll be one-sided.

Halfway across the Glade, Minho gives up and stalks off, frustrated. I find Thomas staring up at the sky from where he's lying in his hammock, shaking ever so slightly. I give him a quick hug and take up my post in the tree. Despite the horror of the past hour, I fall asleep fast.

 **Well, there's that done . . . writing that was really hard. Sorry if I'm not quite getting Newt's speech right, it's pretty tough for a grammar freak like me :)**


	5. Chapter 4

**Here's chapter four, sorry for taking so long :)**

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

 **ROSE**

I wake up around seven, climb down from the tree, and watch the Gladers shuffle around getting ready for the day. I turn to wake Thomas, but Newt's standing right there, holding a finger to his lips. _Let him sleep,_ he mouths.

 _Oh, sure, because I should listen to you,_ I mouth back, but walk away anyway. At a suitable distance from my sleeping brother, Newt steps in front of me. "We need ta talk."

"About what?" I say, my voice chilly.

Newt stares at me, then shoves me, hard. "Wake _up_ , Rose," he hisses. "You're not in the real world. You're stuck in this shuck place! I know ya hate it, and I hate it too! But do ya see me bloody mopin' twenty-four-seven? Pushin' away everyone who's just tryin' ta help? You're being a buggin' _bitch_ ta everyone you know, and Frypan and Zart don't count." He snaps his fingers in my face, centimeters from my nose. "Break out of it and do your bloody share! Ya know what we have in this Glade? Order. You messed everythin' up by comin' here, and that sucks, and so does your life, but ya can't just give up after two bloody days!"

He pauses and I think he's over, but he's just taking a breath. "Ya messed up the order in this Glade, and by Banishin' Ben, we showed everyone that it's fixed. So what if there's a shuck girl here? Go back ta life, as shitty as it is!"

He leans close to my face, his voice dropping to a quieter pitch. "Everyone thinks you're a wimp now, Rose. Because ya couldn't watch what actual order is." His hand wraps around my wrist, lifts it. He curls my fingers into a fist. "Everyone thinks you're a stereotypical girl." He pulls back, brown eyes hard. "Prove them wrong."

He spins around and walks off, leaving me with curses, shouts, and questions hanging from my lips but not quite escaping. Because I know he won't answer them.

I turn, feeling saggy, and start walking towards the gardens. Halfway there I realize I should eat breakfast. I turn around and head for the kitchen. Minho reaches the line just as I do and he pauses, giving me a skeptical look.

I sweep into line, giving him a sarcastic smile. "Thank you, Mr. Chivalrous."

He groans. "You are so annoying."

"Thank you!" I exclaim. "That is _so_ kind. You should become a doorman someday—everyone would like you. Especially you so-un-deprecating sarcastic comments."

"Oh, thanks," he says drily.

We get our breakfast and carry it to a nearby picnic table. I eat a few bites of toast before asking a question that's been tickling at the back of my mind since I saw him. "Uh, Minho, I don't pretend to know everything about this Glade—"

"I beg to differ," Minho mutters.

"—but don't you normally go out at, like, dawn?" I say. "Into the Maze?"

Minho shrugs. "Most days."

"Then why aren't you out there?" I say.

"Because yesterday I found a dead Griever in the Maze," Minho says bluntly, "and Alby's coming with me to check it out. We should be back by noon."

"Oh."

Alby walks up. "Minho! Hurry up or I'll go without you."

 _Snot,_ I think.

"Good luck getting there without me," Minho says, smiling unhelpfully. He takes an exaggeratedly slow bite of toast. "Mmm, I really gotta enjoy this."

Alby rolls his eyes and storms away.

I snicker. "Nice."

Minho shrugs again, but the corners of his mouth are twitching.

* * *

In the gardens, I spot Newt in a tree, dropping apples to a random worker below, and Thomas, planting seeds next to Zart. Newt must have assigned him to the gardens today. Thomas doesn't look like he's enjoying it, but he's probably using this to talk to Zart, gather information.

I go up to Zart. "Hey, what do you want me to do?"

"There's a shucky weed over in the pepper section," Zart says, glancing up and smiling at me. "Why don't you try that?"

I give him a go-drop-dead look. "Why, so I can look sexy again?"

Before he can reply I walk off, heading for the pepper section. I do need to take my anger out on something.

Five minutes later I am sweating, achy-muscled, and nowhere near getting the damn weed out.

It's only made me angrier.

A string of curses rolls off my tongue. I scrape at the dirt around the weed's roots for the seventieth time in a row, clearing more away and getting dangerously close to the roots of the pepper plant. I try pulling it out again. I pull out Newt's knife and chop at the roots, using brute force to destroy the stupid shuck plant. (The weed, not the pepper plant.)

Five minutes later, I'm holding the plant aloft, grinning widely and giving the plant a "ha, suck it, you sucker, I've killed you!" look.

 _Everyone thinks you're a wimp._

"Hey, Newt!" I call.

He pokes his head out of the foliage of the tree he's in. "Yeah?"

I point at the weed with his knife. "You." I toss it into the air, take a step back, and let my body take over. I was intending to chop it in half, but instead my arm decides to throw his knife at it. It hits in the exact middle and embeds itself in the trunk of his tree.

A look of shock crosses his face, followed closely by a smile. He gives me a thumbs-up and disappears.

"Made up, you and your boyfriend?" Thomas says as he's walking past me, a shovel in hand.

"Shut up," I say. I retrieve the plant, saw off the bulb, and shove it in my pocket, then toss the stem in a nearby pile of stuff that can be retrieved by the Sloppers and used as compost or whatever the heck happens to the weeds.

For the rest of the morning I work in the gardens, a smile unable to leave my face thanks to my amazing victory over the plant. Afternoon comes, and it's maybe three when everyone goes on break. I climb a tree and lay out on one of the branches. Why do I feel so cheerful? Did Frypan put something in my toast?

Newt sinks to the ground beneath my tree, leaning against the trunk. I can tell from the way his shoulders are hunched that there's something wrong. When he starts chewing on his fingernails, I slip down from the tree and sit next to him. "You okay?"

From what I can see of his face, his forehead is creased deeply with worry lines and his eyes are bloodshot. His mouth is a thin line, his jaw set. He's staring out at the Glade.

He shakes his head, then drops it onto my shoulder.

Surprised by this, I squeak out, "Well okay then."

"I'm so shuck worried," he whispers, ignoring the pitch of my voice.

 _You're acting very strange,_ I want to say. I don't, though. "Why?"

He sighs, but before he can say anything, I hear Chuck's loud whisper. "What's wrong with him?"

I follow the sound with my eyes. He and Thomas are sitting a few dozen feet away, watching Newt with worried eyes.

"He looks like you did when you popped out of the Box," Chuck goes on. "Minus the leaning-on-the-shoulder part."

"I don't know what's wrong," Thomas replies. "Maybe you should ask him." His whisper is quieter than Chuck's, but I can still hear him. I want to slap him. Have some respect, some diplomacy!

"I can hear every word ya bloody idiots are sayin'," Newt calls, loud. "You're bein' very impolite."

I stifle a smirk.

"Well?" says Mr. Tactless (a.k.a. Chuck). "What _is_ wrong with you? You look like a piece of klunk."

"Every lovin' thing in the universe," Newt says, voice dead. He doesn't elaborate. I feel my fingers migrate towards his hand, brush his knuckles. An it's going to be okay gesture.

Sometimes I swear I have no control over myself.

"Um . . ." Thomas prompts. "Is there anything else to that?"

Newt groans and buries the bridge of his nose against my shoulder. After that he's silent. Finally, just as Chuck's opening his mouth, he says, his voice muffled, "It's Alby and Minho. They shoulda come back hours ago."

"Where'd they go?" Thomas asks.

When it's obvious that Newt's done talking, I say, "Minho took Alby out into the Maze to check out the dead Griever."

"There's a dead Griever?" Chuck exclaims. "Who killed it?"

"Minho didn't say," I say, skirting his question. "But he did say they should be back by noon." _Which explains why Newt is literally crying into my shoulder. Well, he's not crying, but he looks close to it._

Thomas stares out at the walls of the Maze, his brow slightly furrowed, thoughts obviously a million miles away. _What are you thinking?_ I ask him silently.

"Maybe they're out having fun," Chuck offers. "Exploring and stuff. Playing tag."

Thomas drops his head into his hand; Newt lifts his head and gives Chuck a harsh stare that makes me think he's going to spontaneously combust. He's been through everything with Alby and Minho, and Chuck's suggesting they're having fun. I like Chuck, but the kid is so stupid sometimes. Tactless.

"Well," Thomas says, trying to smooth over Chuck's mistake, "why don't you get some people and go into the Maze, to look for them?"

A look of pure horror comes over Newt's face. His skin pales, his eyes widen, his jaw goes slack. After a few hesitating seconds he explains haltingly. "Sendin' out—search parties . . . is forbidden—lest more people . . ."

"Are lost," I finish, when he can't. He buries his face in my shoulder again and I make a "go away you idiots" face at Chuck and Thomas. They carefully get up and go back to their work.

I take Newt's wrist gently in my hands and lay it on my lap, stroking his fingers. "It's gonna be okay, Newt. Alby's gonna make it back—Minho's gonna make it back. They'll both be fine. Okay?"

He shakes his head.

"Yeah," I say, and even to myself I sound unconvincing. "They'll come back."

He lifts his head, stares at me. "Ya don't understand, Rosie. This's happened before." His voice is low, dull.

"You've found a dead Griever before?" I say, surprised.

"No," he says. "That we've never had happen before. But . . . two people've gone out, into the Maze, one with zero experience. They . . . we waited the whole day for them. The next mornin', we were there when the Doors opened, and their bodies were right there. Mutilated." He blinks hard. "I'm worried that's gonna happen ta Alby."

"It won't—" I start.

"It will!" he shouts, startling me. He snatches his hand back. "It's gonna happen! They're both gonna _die_!" With that he scrambles to his feet and limps away, not quite running but not quite walking.

I spring up and run after him, cut him off. I stare him straight in the eye. "Newt, you _have_ to think positive." I make my voice stern. "If you're not positive, life gets a whole lot suckier."

"Rosie, I'm not in the mood," he says tiredly.

"Do you think I was in the mood to get your quote-unquote pep talk today, either?" I demand. "No, I wasn't—but I listened, so the least thing you can do is _pretend_ to do the same!"

He doesn't say anything.

A quote pops into my head and I blurt it out. "When things go wrong, don't go with them," I say, and then decide to keep going even though that's the end of the quote. "Go against them." I wrack my brain for something else to say and come up with a second quote: "Get going. Move forward. Aim high. Plan a takeoff. Don't just sit on the runway and hope someone will come along and push the airplane. It simply won't happen. Change your attitude and gain some altitude."

Now he's staring at me like I'm a crazed lunatic.

"There is a magnificent, beautiful, wonderful painting in front of you," I exclaim, another quote slipping from my mouth. "It is intricate, detailed, a painstaking labor of devotion and love! The colors are like no other, they swim and leap, they trickle and embellish! And yet you choose to fixate your eyes on the small fly which has landed on it! Why do you do such a thing?"

"Uh . . ." he says.

"It'll never rain roses," I hurry on. "When we want more roses we have to plant more roses—" His stare is making me frustrated, flustered.

"Damn it, be positive, you lousy shuck!" I explode, and fling my arms around his neck. It bothers me that I have to stand on tiptoes to do it. "Be so positive and bright and happy that it hurts to look at you!"

"Rosie, calm down," he says, slowly hugging me back. "I'm just worried is all."

"Well, don't show it," I say. "It's making me nervous."

"Why would it make ya nervous?"

 _Because you're always the one who's just fine!_

"Because how are you supposed to take 'be strong' advice from someone who's not even acting it?" I ask, quiet.

He snorts into my hair. "I thought you were the one givin' the 'be strong' advice."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, both of us are, but you gave it first." I step back and in one swift motion, grab his flask from his belt, open it, and dump the contents on his head. Water runs down his sandy hair and into his face. I grin sheepishly as his face transforms into utter astonishment. Then he cricks his neck. "Oh, man. It's _on_."

He slings an arm around my waist and starts hauling me across the Glade to the stream. Despite his thin appearance, he's actually quite wiry and strong. I can't pry his arm away from my stomach, even when I step as hard as possible on his foot.

We reach the stream and Newt turns left, heading for the south wall. Where the pond is.

"Hey!" I shriek. "That's totally not fair!"

"Revenge," he says, a grin in his voice.

"At least let me take off my shoes first," I plead.

"You didn't let me," he replies.

"I didn't throw you in a pond," I exclaim, kicking at his shins.

"Throw you in . . ." he echoes. "I wasn't gonna."

"Phew."

"But since you've mentioned it . . ."

We reach the pond and before I can react, I'm hitting murky, chest-deep water. When I come up I lunge at Newt, scrambling out of the pond. He starts backing away, hands held up. "Hey, Thomas," he shouts over his shoulder. "I found the Pond Monster!"

I lunge forward and tackle him, slamming him into the ground. Then, while he's still a bit dazed, I drag him into the pond and dunk him. By the time Thomas gets to us, we're both completely soaked and trying to submerge each other.

"Hey, Thomas!" I shout, and am pushed down by Newt. I come back up spluttering, "There's a second pond monster!"

"What the hell," he says, as I jump on Newt like I want a piggy-back ride, when I am actually trying to push his face under. "You know you're both still wearing shoes."

Newt falls backwards so I get the brunt of the water. Even from beneath the surface I hear him say, "I know."

I splash to my feet. "Wanna join us?"

Thomas's eyes widen, but even as he's backing away Newt and I are wading out of the pond. We both grab Thomas by the arm. "Stop, guys," he says. "Ew, you're all slimy!"

"See ya in there, sucker," I say. I place my hand on his back, Newt's hand covers mine, and we both push him into the pond. Then Newt curls his fingers around mine and jumps in, dragging me along with him.

* * *

Night is falling.

I'm standing at the front of the pack of Gladers in front of the Maze door that Minho and Alby went through this morning. Thomas is on my left, Newt to my right. Whatever happiness—or whatever emotion is closest to it—the three of us felt earlier is gone.

Newt's in an eerily similar outfit to the one he was wearing earlier. The only difference is his socks, which are brown instead of white. I've changed into knee-high lace-up boots, greenish-brownish skinny cargo pants, and a black longsleeve with the sleeves pushed up to my elbows. Strapped to my left thigh is a medium-sized black leg pouch. I still have Newt's knife, shoved in my belt. Thomas somehow knows how to braid hair, professional-style, and has put mine in something called the Sideways Mermaid braid. I don't know what it looks like, but both he and Newt said it looks good.

The air is thick with tension. The Doors are minutes from closing, and Alby and Minho haven't gotten back yet. Newt is clenching and unclenching his hands, staring into the Maze with a _PLEASE_ look on his face.

Thomas breaks the thick quiet, speaking across me to Newt. "My God, can't we send someone after them?"

 _Again, you must ask,_ I think grouchily.

"It's against the rules," Gally says from where he's crouched on the left of Chuck (who is to the left of Thomas). "Either they make it back or they don't."

As much as I hate the shuck-face, I have to admit that even he seems worried.

"We can't risk losin' anyone else," Newt points out to Thomas. Now his hands are hovering over his arms, moving back and forth like he's rubbing them without touching them.

 _Enough!_ I want to scream. _We've already gone over this! Stop repeating conversations, dammit!_

A wind picks up, coming from the Maze. Thomas shields his eyes against it, but Newt and I stare out down the hall, both of us hoping against hope that Alby and Minho will appear. Heck, right now I bet he'd settle for just one and accept the other's death.

The Doors start to close.

"Oh, no," Chuck murmurs.

I see Newt's face fall out of the corner of my eye.

Suddenly Thomas points into the Maze. "There!"

Everyone leans forward, squinting. Minho appears around the corner, Alby draped over his back, staggering and grunt-yelling. Everyone around me, aside from Newt and Thomas, starts shouting, screaming encouragements.

"They're not gonna make it," Newt says, disbelief striking his tone.

Oh, man.

Now Minho's dragging Alby across the floor by his feet, making more headway but definitely not making enough to get through the Doors before they close.

Time slows.

Everyone's voices blur. I look up at Thomas. He's glancing around him, a look of desperation glinting in his eyes.

"Oh, no," I breathe.

Time goes back to normal.

"Thomas, don't!" I shriek, even before he moves. He jumps forward, starts squeezing through the doors. I lunge after him, my protective-sister-instincts taking over. "Thomas, _get back here_!" Before I can follow him between the doors, slender fingers wrap around my wrist and jerk me back, away from the doors.

"Get off me!" I scream, as Newt loops his arm inside my elbows, holding me back. "Let me after him!"

"Rose, stop!" Newt shouts in my ear. "You can't!"

I jerk my knee to my chest and slam my boot into his groin. Run for the Doors again, try to fight away the Gladers that haul me back. Then pain strikes through my head and I black out.

 **A/N: well there we have it folks, please tell me what you think of it. Also, a special shoutout thank-you to malifcbfan1899, who told me how to put in those horizontal lines. (Yes, I did not know how to use them.) Thank you for reading!**


	6. Chapter 5

ROSE

I wake up on the ground, with my arms and legs pinned down by Gladers. Newt is kneeling at my side, his knees by my stomach, talking to someone standing behind my head. It takes me a moment to remember where I am and what just happened. I strain to free my arms and legs, but the Gladers holding them are strong.

"Hey!" I shout at Newt, startling him. "Maybe you could let me go after my brother?"

"The Doors are closed, Rose," he says, almost apologetically. "But to make ya feel better, I wouldn't let ya go after him even if they were open."

"If they were open, we wouldn't be having this problem," I spit. I need to get to my knife. I eye the walls. There are a few vines that go to the top. What if . . .

Again: I need to get my knife. "Could you at least loosen up on my wrists? I feel like my hand's gonna fall off."

Newt gives me a look that lets me know he knows exactly what I want to do. "No."

Fine, then.

"Thomas is my brother," I insist. "You—" I break off in a series of realistic coughs that continue until I'm actually coughing. I lift my entire body off the ground as best I can, hold it there, arched, and then slump, rolling my eyes to the back of my head and fluttering my eyelids closed.

Thank you, Ben, for the spasm lessons that you weren't aware you were giving me.

"Ha, ha," Newt says sarcastically.

I stay still, not breathing even though now my lungs are aching.

"Uh, Newt?" Frypan asks. "She's not breathing."

"She will," Newt promises.

I don't.

A minute goes by. Just as I feel I'm about to pass out, Newt gives up. He must not think I can hold my breath for this long. You've got a lot to learn, buddy. "Get her to the Homestead," he commands. I'm lifted up, my arms dangled loose. I allow myself a small, silent breath, then wrench myself free, unsheathing my/Newt's-borrowed knife. I swing it in a wide circle as I get my footing and take a deep breath.

"Shuck," Newt mutters.

"Stay away from me," I bark, feeling more than slightly insane. "Understand? Stay away!"

"What are you going to even do?" Gally snarls.

"Slice your head off if you don't shut up, shank," I snarl back. I start backing towards the Maze, pointing my knife at random people who move. "Do not make any sudden movements or I will slit your throats, all of you!"

"Rosie, stop." There's something in Newt's voice that makes me want to do just that, but it's not quite enough of a strong feeling. I glower at him. "You stop, Newt. Stop acting like you can make a difference. My brother is gone. You said it yourself—no one survives a night in the Maze. I had a chance to save Thomas's life and you chucked it out the window. So please don't mind if I follow that shucking chance!"

I spin on the balls of my feet and dart through the crowd, back towards the Maze wall. I put the hilt of the knife between my teeth as I run, and when I reach the wall I jump, grabbing a handful of vine. There are cracks in the wall that make easy toeholds and the vines that I'm clinging to are sturdy. Faster than I would have thought to be possible, I'm scaling the wall. Before I know it I'm more than halfway. I pause, look down. The Gladers are gathered around the wall, staring up at me.

I turn and keep climbing.

It's at this point that the vine starts getting slippery and my arms start to ache. I just climbed at least seventy feet in less than five minutes—of course my arms are gonna be tired. I'm just disappointed that . . . I don't know. I'm disappointed.

My hands slip and I fall several feet, my stomach flying into my throat as I do. I manage to dig my foot into a crack and stop my fall, but the slip is enough: Newt starts climbing the wall, coming after me.

Holy crapnuggets, he can't climb, not with his bum leg!

With each passing foot he climbs, his face gets paler and paler.

I'm hurting him.

It's astounding how quickly I make the decision. I brace my feet against the wall, stick the knife in my belt. Newt pauses below me, staring up at me with a "don't do it" look on his face.

I bunch my legs up.

"Rosie, don't!" Newt yells.

I push away from the wall.

But I don't fall, because I'm doing that rock-climber-rappelling thing, where you push off and let some rope slide through your hands, and then you come back to the wall and stop sliding. I do this five times and reach where Newt had been when I started. Now he's back on the ground, breathing hard, holding the ankle of his wacked leg.

The second I'm on the grass he slams me into the stone, the heels of his palms digging into my shoulders. "Don't ever do that again!" he shouts.

"Jeez, Newt," I say, attempting lamely at a joke. "I'm right here, you don't have to shout."

He rips his knife from my belt and sheathes it, then goes back to pressing my shoulders into the wall. "Yes, I do have ta shout! I have ta ingrain it into your thick skull that if ya ever do that again I will not hesitate to shoot ya!"

"I won't be able to," I say. "I don't have your knife anymore."

"Stop doin' that!" he yells. "Stop actin' like it was nothing! You were going to climb up the wall and then jump the shuck off! You are not allowed to do that, ya understand!? You're NOT!"

"I get it!" I yell back. "I scared you! So what! Why do you even care what I do? I—"

"Shut up!" he screams.

I go still. Ooh, this is bad. Rosalyn, you pushed too hard.

"Just shut up! You don't know what I care about! You don't know what goes on in my head! You know why I care what ya do? Because I like you! If ya jump off that wall and succeed in dying, not only will we all be kinda—oh, you know—SAD, we won't be able to survive! If we're stuck in this place for the rest of our lives, we may want kids." His voice goes quiet and all of a sudden he pulls me into a hug, a bone-crushing one, one that suggests we'll never see each other again. "When you started rappellin' down . . . I thought you were gonna jump off." Something wet falls onto my neck. Is he crying? "I was so scared."

I press my face into his chest, for some reason feeling teary myself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you . . . and I wasn't going to jump off. Not ever. I was going to climb back down, over into the Maze. Get Thomas out of there." I frown. "How come you've never—"

"We've tried it," Newt says, dully. "Trust me, whatever you can think of, we tried it."

"Oh. Okay." I sniff, wondering why he's got me on the verge of tears.

He pulls back and turns to the gaping crowd of Gladers. "Everyone, go to bed! Alright? Just go, no buts!"

The crowd slowly trickles away, Newt herding them like a flock of sheep towards the hammocks. While he's doing that I plant myself cross-legged in front of the Maze doors. I will stay up all night. Thomas will survive a night in the Maze. He will come back alive.

Newt returns a few minutes later with cookies, big fat things the size of my face. I bite into mine without even checking to see what kind it is.

We eat our cookies in silence, a peaceful one. I finish mine first, dust my hands off, and lie back in the grass. Newt takes my shoulder, lifts me off the ground, lays back, and puts my head on his chest. I smile, look at the stars.

"So?" Newt says, breaking the silence.

"So, what?" I'm trying to find the Big Dipper.

"D'ya like me?" Newt asks, shifting beneath my head.

I think for about a half a half a half of a second (my fancy way of saying an eighth) and nod. "Yes, Newt. I like you."

He sighs. "Good. When you didn't react to my sayin' I liked you I kinda panicked, especially 'cause we were in front of the entire Glade."

"Who cares what they think," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Well, me, in diplomatic situations," Newt says.

I roll my eyes again and poke his stomach in fake exasperation. "You."

He's silent for a while. Then he says, "Ya know, they're probably not gonna make it."

"Who?" I say, even though I already know who.

"Thomas, Minho, Alby." He hesitates, then plows on. "The odds of them survivin' out there are literally impossible. We've tried before. Many times."

"I know," I say.

"With many different justifications and methods," he adds, voice thick.

I prop myself up on one elbow and look down at his face. A single tear is making its way down his temple, towards his ear (thank you, gravity). I reach over and brush it off. "As I said before, think positive."

We watch each other for a while. Then I flop back down on his chest, making him grunt. "What are the odds?"

"Odds of them survivin'?" Newt says.

"No," I say. "The odds of us growing to like each other in the span of three days."

"Very slim," he says. "Very, very slim."

"Defying all odds," I say.

"That's us," he murmurs, sounding sleepy. "The Odds-Defyers. Now go to sleep."

"Why?"

"Because I'm tired, and therefore you should be too. And if I'm tired, I'm gonna go ta sleep, and you should go ta sleep also."

I reach up and poke his nose. "Yessir, Mister Arrogance."

"Seriously," he says, voice softening. "You should try ta get some sleep."

"I'll try," I tell him. After a few minutes, his breathing deepens. I can't help it—I carefully prop myself up on one elbow and watch his face. His eyes snap open and he grins. "Hello."

I groan and flop onto his chest again, this time as hard as I can. "Shank."

"Ditto," he murmurs. Then he actually goes to sleep. I wedge myself closer to him, looking up at the stars. They're especially clear tonight, even though . . .

It hits me.

Thomas isn't coming back.

I go completely still. Thomas isn't coming back. Nor Minho, nor Alby. Three competent Gladers, out the window. Their bodies'll show up tomorrow morning when the doors open, limp and cold.

My brother's not coming back.

Ever.

It's torture, but I can't go to sleep. I have to stay awake, be there for when the Doors open.

At around two a.m. I get up to stretch my legs, feeling stiff from being in the same position for so long. Newt half wakes up, mumbles something that sounds like a question, and goes back to sleep.

I decide to take a jog around the Glade, but as soon as I start moving faster than a walk I'm running, sprinting across the dewy grass like there's a hellbeast on my heels. I want to run so fast I get out of this place. I want to—I want to—

I slip. Fall. Scramble back up. As desperate as if there actually is something that's gonna kill me behind me. I reach the Homestead and plunge into the underbrush behind it, trailing my fingers along the wall. I hurdle bushes and skirt saplings, nearly slamming into the north wall because it's so dark. I change course and speed up.

I want someone to run with, to show off for, to toss sarcastic comments back and forth with. As much as I like Newt, he can't do that. He's too nice . . . and he doesn't run.

Thomas.

North Door.

Minho.

Even Alby, who I really don't actually like, I am worried for.

Thomas needs my help, and I'm not here to give it to him.

I run around the back of the Blood House, prepared for the east wall. My breathing is growing ragged, but if I had bothered to try to check my pace when I started running I'd still be fine now.

East Door.

My thoughts are scattered, half my brain blank.

I know I'm going inhumanly fast.

I know I could seriously injure myself if I keep this up.

I don't care.

I'm only seeing flashes of things, most of the scenery not even registering.

Gardens.

South wall.

Switch course.

Head west.

Watch out for the apple trees.

Careful, shuck it.

Open space.

South Door.

Thomas.

Help.

Can't.

Into the forest.

Blundering.

Glance off a tree.

Shoulder burns.

Nearly run into another tree.

Heart burning.

Lungs burning.

Legs burning.

Branches, whipping face and arms.

It's about this time that I lose all connection with the world. All I know is that I'm running. That is, until I trip over Newt's legs and fall flat on my face, making him shoot up, onto his feet, then crouch at my side. He rolls me over and gathers me up, like I'm some sort of infant. I press my face into his shoulder, wishing I could cry.

But nothing comes.

"Shh," he whispers, over and over, stroking my back. "Shh. It's okay."

Somehow we wind up back in the same positions we were before, except my arms are wrapped around Newt's middle and my head is on his arm. He's stroking my hair, pushing it into my face and then brushing it away. I stare, basically traumatized, at the sky. The sky, full of stars. The sky that slowly turns lighter and lighter, those stars fading away.

Morning.

At the first, slightest rumble of the Doors I'm on my feet, staring breathlessly at them. I move forward in a near daze, pleading for them to be opening faster.

"Rose," Newt warns, voice full of sleep. "They might . . ."

The Doors open all the way. My eyes flick to the ground, but there are no bodies there.

"Where are they?" I literally screech.

"Rose . . ." Newt says.

I turn on him, fear and anger spilling over. "Where are they!? You said they'd be there!"

"No I didn't," he exclaims. "I said that if they were dead they'd be there!" He glares at me. Then his entire face changes, his brown eyes lifting above my head to stare into the Maze, filled with disbelief.

"No," I breathe, and slowly turn.

Thomas and Minho are trailing down the corridor, looking like Death itself, limping with exhaustion. I shriek with jubilation and sprint to my brother, flinging myself into his arms, making him stagger. I don't realize I'm crying until he gently shoves me away, complaining, "You're getting my shirt all wet."

"You stupid shuck," I sob, taking fistfuls of his shirt and shaking him as best I can through my tears. "You stupid, stupid, stupid shuck!"

"Calm down, Roz," he says, but he's grinning. "It wasn't that bad."

"Are you kidding me?" I hug him again, determined to never let him leave my sight. I hardly even notice his new nickname for me. "It was terrible! Horrible! I'm never going to forgive you."

"You shoulda seen her," Newt says. I hear a bunch of slapping and figure he and Minho are doing that hug and hit each other on the back as hard as possible thing that guys do. "She ran a full lap around the Glade in less than four minutes, nearly climbed over the wall ta try ta get ya out. Even kicked me in my manly parts."

"Manly parts?" I demand, letting go of Thomas but keeping a firm hand on his arm. "You squealed higher than I can talk. There's nothing 'manly' about that."

"You would've too," Newt says, blushing bright red.

Minho snorts.

"So," Newt continues, redirecting the conversation, "where's Alby?"

Thomas points to a section of wall near the Doors, about thirty feet off the ground.

"Holy shuck," I blurt. "How—what's he doing up there?"

"Hello," Minho says. "I think we're missing something, Thomas!"

"Oh. Right." Thomas glances at Newt. "Alby got stung by a Griever."

"Shuck," Newt breathes, going pale. He whirls to the group of Gladers at the entrance to the Maze and shouts, "Med-Jacks! Alby got stung!" Then he turns back to Thomas and Minho. "You two look like bugging death. Go get some food and sleep."

"But—" Thomas starts.

"Come on," Minho snaps. "Or do you want to stay up for another twelve hours working your butt off in the gardens or something?"

I'd be happy to, I think at him, but don't say anything as Minho leads my brother away.

"Speaking of sleep," Newt says, looking pointedly at me.

"I didn't get any last night, I know," I say smoothly. "I'll see if I can get Alby out of the vines, 'kay?" Without waiting for an answer, I trot over to approximately where Thomas pointed, grab a handful of vine, and start climbing.

"Oh, God, be bloody careful," Newt says pleadingly.

"I know, I know," I say. I reach up and take another handful of vine, wrapping it around my hand for support. My muscles feel as though they're gonna flop out of my arms, but I remember the concern on Newt's face from yesterday afternoon and force myself to keep climbing, despite the agony I'm putting my body through.

I reach a bulge in the ivy and realize it's Alby's body. "Found him!" I call.

Gladers swarm the wall around me and somehow, we get the body down. Newt starts shouting orders, following the horde back towards the Homestead. Alby's carted up the stairs, stabbed with the Grief Serum (whatever the heck that is), and strapped to the bed. Newt tells the Med-Jacks to stay with Alby at all times and call him if Alby says anything, then literally drags me out of the Homestead and to the hammocks. Halfway there I stop, digging my feet into the ground. "No."

Newt faces me, sighing. "Rosie, you have to sleep."

"I'm not tired," I protest, even though exhaustion is seeping through my pores, weighing my nose and the roof of my mouth down and making me want to collapse and snore away a few days right there on the grass.

As I say this, I yawn earsplittingly, completely offsetting what could have been a great lie.

Newt rolls his eyes. "You're sleepin'."

"Fine," I say. He starts to drag me to the hammocks again, but I keep my feet planted. "On one condition."

"Oh dear Lord," he mutters, facing me again.

"You sleep too," I say. "Face it, Newt—you're even more tired than I am, because you probably stayed up all night the night before last, trying to figure out why there was a dead Griever out in the Maze, and torturing yourself about Ben. Therefore, you've gotten less sleep in the past forty-eight hours than I have."

The flicker of guilt in his brown eyes is all I need to know—he spent the night before last doing exactly what I think he did. It's my turn to drag him towards the hammocks. He collapses sideways onto one and is asleep before he can get his legs over the side. I do that for him and, tired of sleeping on a freaking branch (even if there are blankets), crawl onto it next to him. It seems childish, but if I have nightmares—and I will, undoubtedly—I want him to be there.

I fall asleep.

* * *

"Hey, Rose!"

I open my eyes groggily, rubbing at them. Newt is still snoring away beside me, and Thomas is jogging towards me, waving his hand. "Hey, Rose!" he calls again.

I slip from the hammock and stumble wearily over to meet him. It feels like I just went to sleep. Even the light is the same. "Yeah?" I ask, voice thick, when I reach him.

Thomas grabs my arm and starts pulling me with him. "I need you to come with me, into the Maze."

"What?" Now I'm fully awake. I wrench my arm out of his grasp. "What did you just say?!"

"I met someone," he whispers, glancing around to see if anyone's overhearing. "I met a girl in the Maze."

"You did not," I growl.

"I did!" He smiles. "She's so pretty and nice . . . c'mon, Rose, just this once."

I don't know why I agree to go with him, but the next thing I know, I'm running alongside him, twisting and turning through the corridors in the Maze.

Thomas comes to a cliff of sorts, after which is nothing. He looks around. "She should be here soon."

Something slams into his back, knocking him to the ground. It's a girl, dressed Tarzan-style. She kneels on his back and, with a sickening amount of blood, sinks her teeth into his neck.

 **A/N: Hehe another cliffhanger :) Don't you just love me? ;)**

 **Special thanks to: Penguinlover28, TMRisLIFE, and damsnackbar for your reviews, you guys are great :D**


	7. Chapter 6

ROSE

Before I know what I'm doing I kick her in the side, as hard as I possibly can. She doesn't flinch, just laps at Thomas's neck. With the amount of blood he's already lost he should be dead, but he just smiles at me from where his cheek is being pressed into the ground. "Isn't she nice?" he asks, in a voice that is definitely not his own.

"Get off him!" I shout, kicking the girl in the face this time. She climbs off Thomas and helps him up, smiling with bloodstained vampire fangs.

"Don't hurt her," Thomas says. "Don't hurt my girlfriend."

"She's a monster!" I yell at him. Thomas, where's your sense? "She's going to kill you!"

Blood pumps from his neck. "Who's a monster?" He smiles, showing fangs. "She's not a monster. The monster is you."

They come at me slowly.

"Thomas, stop," I command, breathing hard. "She's corrupting you."

Suddenly there's a wall behind me.

"Thomas," I say, voice trembling. "Thomas—"

"Rose," he says, grinning evilly. The girl at his side gives me a triumphant look.

"Rose," Thomas repeats. "Rose."

He lunges at me, tears open my neck.

"Rose!"

I bolt upright, clapping a hand over my mouth to keep myself from screaming. Newt jerks back, brown eyes flying away to a further distance. He must have been leaning over me.

He takes a step closer. "Are you okay? Was it a nightmare?"

I can still feel a scream building in my throat, so I shake my head, then nod, hoping he'll understand: no, I'm not okay, yes, it was a nightmare.

"You gonna throw up?" he asks gently.

Joke, Rose, my brain screams at me. I take my hand away from my mouth. "Now that you mention it, yes." I lunge for the side of the hammock and pretend to barf on the ground near his shoes, retching sounds included.

"Oh, gross—" he starts, and breaks off as he realizes that there's no barf. "Gosh, Rosie, that was extremely ladylike."

"I'm not a lady," I say bluntly.

"Right," Newt says. He swings my legs over the side of the hammock and sits down close. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"About how I'm not a lady?" I ask, eyes wide.

"About your nightmare."

It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. "Thomas was a vampire," I choke out, and collapse against him in sobs.

 **NEWT**

She bursts into tears and crumples against me. Instantly I have my arms around her, hugging her closer. I'm not surprised she's crying, I'm just surprised it took her this long to start crying.

But in a way it didn't, because she cried when Thomas got back. Maybe those were tears of relief.

If those were tears of relief, then these are tears of . . .

Of what? I reply silently.

. . .

Exactly.

"Hey, Newt?" Rosie says some time later, after half of my shirt is damp.

"Hey, Rosie?" I answer.

"Promise me one thing," she says.

"Anythin'." I don't even hesitate. That's how much I care for her.

"No matter what happens," she says, "never, ever, ever turn into a vampire. Okay?"

I consider making a joke out of it, but that could set her off again and as much as I like her, I really don't want to sit through another half hour of crying. It's so awkward. "Okay, Rosie," I say softly, leaning back on the hammock and taking her with me. "I promise."

"NEWT! NEEEEEEEEEWWWWTTTT!"

I scramble to my feet automatically, leaving the hammock swinging. Rosie jumps up also, scrubbing furiously at her blotchy face. I take a few strides towards the voice. A few seconds later I see Chuck, racing towards me.

"Newt!" He pants out, hands on his knees. "Newt, it's Alby."

"Is he okay?!" I nearly shout, sticking my finger in the poor kid's face.

"Yes!" Chuck scrambles backwards to avoid me. "Yes, he's fine! It's just . . ."

I advance, worry for my best friend overriding all common sense. "It's just what?"

"Newt," Rosie admonishes, gently but firmly pushing me out of the way. "Be nice. What's wrong, Chuck?"

If he notices her face, he doesn't say anything. "Uh, it's just that Alby's started the Changing."

As if to put a flourish on his words, a scream echoes across the Glade. I'm racing towards the Homestead as fast as my bloody limp will carry me before I know what's happening. Rosie catches up easily. She doesn't say anything until we reach the Homestead. Then she asks, "What's the Changing?"

The way she's adapted so quickly to her surroundings without asking too many questions has surprised me, but this even more so. I forgot she didn't know what the Changing is. "Look, Rosie," I say, already tired from what's going to happen, "I really do wanna explain, but I need ta be up there with Alby."

"I'll come too," she offers instantly.

"No," I say. "Ya gotta some food. Hang out with Minho, get him to tell you what the Changin' is. This is for me to do."

Hurt flickers across her eyes, so quickly I almost don't see it. Then it's gone, and she's smiling and nodding understandingly. "Of course. He's your best friend. It's a guy thing, I guess. Okay. See you later, then."

I wrap her into a big hug, holding her close for too long and not long enough. Then I head into the Homestead, bracing myself for what's coming next.

 **ROSE**

I stand there, watching the door to the Homestead, for a lot longer than I should given what Newt told me to go do. The second I turn around I hear the door open. I turn back in time to see Thomas stumble out, arm over his eyes against the sunlight. He groans. "Good morning, sister."

I check the sky. It's midafternoon. I hug him quickly, saying, "Good afternoon to you too, brother." Thomas snorts. "I'd not say it's good anything."

Alby screams again. I shudder at the sound and start dragging Thomas away from the Homestead. "Come on, let's go—"

"Thomas!"

I glance over my shoulder in time to see Minho duck under my arm and give Thomas a bro hug. I let go of my brother's arm so he can return the bro hug, but he doesn't. Maybe he's too tired.

Minho releases Thomas and steps back. "My little prodigy," he exclaims. "Mister Dive-and-Roll-Thingy! How are you?"

"Dive and roll thingy?" Thomas repeats, words slurring with sleep.

"What am I, chopped liver?" I demand faux-angrily, putting a hand on my hip and giving Minho a skeptical look.

"Ah, Miss Newt's-a-Garden-Plant-That-I-Stabbed-to-a-Tree!" Minho turns to me, smiling big, and crushes me in a bear hug, complete with the bro back-slapping thing. I slam my fist into his spine as hard as I can several times, grinning over his shoulder at Thomas, who looks deeply confused.

"So," Minho says, slinging one arm over my shoulder and the other over Thomas's. "What shall we do today?"

"I'm gonna go get some more sleep," Thomas says through a yawn, disentangling himself from Minho and staggering off in a very un-straight line towards the forest.

"Has he been drinking?" Minho asks.

I giggle. "Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you that you left your booze stash unguarded." I take a few wavering steps, slap myself in the eye with my hand, and say, "G, U, K, Z?" I look at him hopefully.

Minho laughs. "Great! A drunk test."

"I think it's called a sobriety test," I say. "Walk in a straight line, touch your hand to your nose, and say your ABC's backwards. All easy except for the ABC's thing."

"Z, Y, X . . . W, V, U, T . . . S, R, Q, P, O . . ." Minho trails off. "That's all I've got."

"N, M, L, K, J, I, H, G, F, E, D, C, B, A," I respond. "It's the first ten or so letters that I can't get."

"Well, great," Minho says. "We're both half drunk. Thank you, sobriety test!"

Alby screams again. I nearly clap my hands over my ears. Minho must see my discomfort, because he starts strolling casually away from the Homestead. I walk alongside him, checking my pace so it doesn't seem that I'm too eager to get away. "So, Minho, what's the Changing?"

Minho tips his head to the side. "What, your boyfriend hasn't told you yet? Tsk, tsk, Newt."

"He's not—" I start, and stop. "Alright, fine, maybe he is my boyfriend. Sort of. I don't know. We haven't kissed yet—"

"Thank you," Minho says loudly, holding up a hand. "That is way too much information."

"You asked," I say.

"The Changing," he says, tone pointed, "is a process that you go through after being stung by a Griever, and if you're administered the Serum in time. No one knows exactly what goes down in the Changing, because those who've been through it never talk about it. But the gist is that you remember all of the things from the past. You get your memories back. It's a complicated process."

"I see." I look out at the Maze. A thought hasn't even formed in my mind when Minho steps in front of me, giving me a deadly serious stare.

"Don't ever get stung," he orders. Yes, it's not a suggestion, it's an order. "Ever. You do not want to get stung. You see a Griever, go the other way. Understand?"

I nod.

Minho sighs. "Do you want some food?"

"I'll get it," I say. "I'm perfectly capable."

"Oh." He smirks. "Right, I forgot: you're Miss Newt's-a-Garden-Plant-That-I-Sta—"

"Shut up," I cut him off. "Or else I'm going to become Miss I-Stabbed-Minho-to-a-Tree."

He leans closer. "Is that a threat?"

I place a light hand on his chest and push him away. "Go sit somewhere and become friends with a blade of grass." Before he can say anything witty in reply, I jog to the food line. Dinner is pasta and red sauce, the simplicity of which Frypan apologizes for, but to me, it's the best thing in the world.

While we eat, Minho talks about when Frypan arrived. "We were half starved," he says. "And then Frypan shows up with just one apple in his hand and a million recipes in his head. An hour later he was setting a freaking slice of apple pie down in front of me. It was the best thing ever, and I will never forget the taste."

"What'd you do then?" I ask, twirling spaghetti on my spoon in a manner that I don't recognize but have obviously done so many times it's instinctive.

"After cramming an entire slice in my mouth?" Minho says, in a tone that lets me know that's exactly what he did, no joke. "Alby and Newt instated him as head cook and things got a heck of a lot better. So in a way, you can thank Frypan for your boyfriend's existence."

"Thanks, Frypan!" I shout across the Glade, knowing he can't hear me. I turn to Minho and smirk.

"Hmm," Minho says, stroking his chin. "Maybe I should call you Miss Sass and leave it at that."

"As long as I get you call you Mister Idiocy," I say, "it's a deal."

Minho sticks out his hand, grinning. We shake on it and throw insults back and forth until Chuck and Thomas join us. Then we turn the teasing on Thomas, who retorts deftly every single time. Chuck sits there with a slight spaghetti sauce beard, watching with fascination.

Minho pauses mid-insult and nods over Thomas's shoulder. "Hey, Rose, it's your boyfriend."

"I thought you were gonna call me Miss Sass, Mister Idiocy," I say, avoiding Chuck's and Thomas's questioning gazes.

"I didn't say I would only call you Miss Sass," Minho says.

"That's what it sounded like," I say.

"As I was saying," Minho says loudly to Thomas. "How did . . ."

I tune out as Newt slides to the ground beside me, looking like death on two feet (until he sits, at least—then he looks like death on one butt). "Hey," I say quietly. "How's Alby?"

Newt turns his head, looking more sad and worried than I think is possible. "He's gonna live," he says. "The worst part is over, mostly. The bugger'll sleep for a few days, then wake up fine. Maybe some screaming thrown in."

I lace my fingers with his and lean my head on his shoulder. He rests his cheek on my hair.

"Newt, what's he going through up there?" Thomas asks. "Seriously, I don't get what this Changing thing is."

"You think we do?" Newt literally spits the question out. I jerk off his shoulder as he leans forward, glaring at Thomas. "All we bloody know is if the Grievers sting ya with their nasty buggin' needles, you inject the Grief Serum or ya die. If you do get the Serum, then your body wigs out and shakes and your skin bubbles and turns a freaky green color and ya vomit all over yourself. That enough freakin' explanation for ya, Tommy, or do ya still need more?"

I groan, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. Good God almighty, Thomas, can't you see how stressed Newt is? Not only does he have to keep an eye on Alby, but he hasn't gotten twelve hours of sleep in the past two, three days, and he's taken over as temporary leader. He can't even get advice from the former leader, because he's the same dude Newt needs to keep an eye on! Jesus H. Christ.

Thomas frowns, looking slightly guilty. "Hey, I know it sucks to see Alby go through that—"

"Ya think?" Newt growls.

"But I just want to know what's really happening up there," Thomas says, plowing on. "Why do you call it the Changing?"

Newt flops against the tree I'm leaning on, sighing. "It brings back memories. Just little snippets, but definite memories of before we came to this bloody place. Anyone who goes through it acts like a buggin' psycho when it's over—although not usually as bad as poor Ben. Anyway, it's like bein' given your old life back, only ta have it snatched away again."

I glare at Minho. He didn't mention that. When I said I wanted to know about the Changing, I mouth at him, I kinda meant ALL of it, not just some!

He smirks. Guess it slipped my mind, he mouths back.

"Are you sure?" Thomas says, and for a second I think he's talking to Minho. But Newt responds, looking puzzled. "What do ya mean? Sure about what?"

"Are they changed because they want to go back to their old life, or is it because they're so depressed at realizing their old life was no better than what we have now?"

Newt stares for a moment, then tips his head back. When he next speaks it's like he's talking to the stars. "Shanks who've been through it never really talk about it. They get . . . different. Unlikeable. There's a handful around the Glade, but I can't stand to be around them." He blinks fast a few times, most likely thinking about Alby and wondering if the same will happen to him.

"Tell me about it," Chuck says, chiming into the conversation. "Gally's the worst of 'em all."

I glower fully at Minho, who holds up his hands in surrender, eyes wide. Sorry! he mouths. I roll my eyes and tuck my legs up to my side, leaning on Newt for support.

A silence fills the air, broken by the murmuring of voices and chirping of crickets.

"Anyway," Newt says, after a while, "next up—figure out what happens ta Tommy."

"What?" I say, at the same time Thomas goes, "Do with me? What does that mean?"

Newt carefully stands up so that I don't fall over and stretches his arms above his head, showing a strip of skin between his shirt and his pants. "Turned this whole place upside down, ya bloody shank." He says this in a friendly way. "Half the Gladers think you're Jesus, the other half wanna throw your ugly slint-butt down the Box Hole. Lotsa stuff ta talk about."

"Like what?" Thomas asks cautiously.

"Patience," Newt admonishes. "You'll find out after the wake-up."

"Tomorrow? Why?"

I look up at Newt, waiting for an explanation.

"I've called a Gathering," he says. "And you'll be there, Tommy. You're the only buggin' thing on the agenda."

With that, he turns and wanders away.

I toss my plate at Minho, who barely manages to keep it from shattering on the ground, and stand up. "I'm gonna get some sleep. See you shanks later." I turn and follow Newt.

"You suck at insults," Minho calls after me.

"Ditto!"

I jog a few steps, catch up to Newt. He's heading for the Homestead, a crease between his eyebrows. I can't tell if it's from anger or worry. I walk beside him, watching my feet make imprints in the dewy grass.

Newt opens the door to the Homestead and I place a hand on his arm. "Newt, don't you think it's time to sleep now?"

"Why are you always on to me about sleeping?" he nearly shouts, turning on me, ears scarlet with rage. "Can't you just leave me alone for five minutes?"

"No," I yell back. "Because you'll walk yourself into the ground! Five hours of sleep doesn't cut it, either! If you don't sleep, you'll get even crankier than you already are and believe me, no one wants to be around a crank. So buster," I say, standing on my tiptoes to get right in his face, "you will go over to that hammock and you will sleep and you will sleep through the entire night and then until nine o'clock, and if you don't, then the next night I will handcuff you to the damn thing!" I place one hand on my hip and jab my index finger in his face. "You." Finger points at hammocks. "Go. Now."

The instant the words are out of my mouth, I want to reel them back in. I sound so much like a mother, a parent, yelling at their child and telling them to clean their room or something.

Evidently Newt senses this too, because he rolls his eyes and stomps off to the hammocks. I smirk. Being a mother does have its points.

I go upstairs and tell the Med-Jack on duty at Alby's bedside that if he needs to find Newt he should look in the hammocks, then trot downstairs and out of the Homestead. When I weave through the hammocks, I see Newt already snoring in the one furthest from the front, where the light is darkest. I ask Minho to wake me up at six and slide onto the one next to Newt's. I'll make sure he doesn't get out of that hammock until nine. I will. I tell Minho this and he interrupts those plans with a swift, decisive blow. "You can't."

I sit up and glare at him. "Why not?"

"Because the Gathering," he replies matter-of-factly. "Everyone likes to get an early start here, and the Gathering's gonna be early. Day after tomorrow should be fine, though, if you wanna go all mommy on your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," I mutter, sinking into the hammock again.

"Yes he is," Minho sing-songs.

"Shut your hole, Minho."

"Shut yours."

"Up yours."

"Up yours."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"Gonna die tonight."

"Better tell your boyfriend that. He'll be broken up about it."

"Not my boyfriend." I roll over, pressing my face into my hand. Seconds later I'm asleep, and dreaming.

In my dream I can fly.

I'm floating above the Maze, mapping it out with my eyes and drawing it, shouting down to Newt what I can see. I start to fly forward. I can't. It's like I'm stuck in some sort of box thing. A face appears in the sky above me, one of a woman I've never seen before. "You're doomed," she says. I fall and wake up when I hit the ground. It's a relatively short dream, but for some reason I'm terrified. I curl myself into a ball and stare at my shoes, realizing that I never took them off.

I fall asleep again.

I wake up in the morning to Minho's sarcastic comments, but they're not directed at me. I definitely dreamed again, but I can't remember what it was about.

I still feel terrified.

But they can't see that.

I stand up, stretching. "Morning, Minho. D'you realize how nice it is to wake up to your voice?"

He turns around, grinning. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't wake you up."

"What's happening to Thomas?" I ask.

He twitches his eyebrows. "Want some breakfast?"

"No," I snap. "I want to know what's happening to Thomas."

"We haven't decided," Minho squeaks.

I start to barge past him, but he bars my way. "You—you can't."

I give him my best glare. "Why the hell not?"

Minho sighs and steps aside. "You don't want to, trust me."

I shove him, angered, and run out into the Glade. There's a ring of tightly knit boys around something, something that I'm not sure I want to see. But something drives me forward, and I shove several boys out of the way. I find a spot where I can see what's happening and stare.

Thomas is on his knees, hands tied behind his back, two boys holding his ankles to the ground. Newt holds his hair gripped in a fist, pulling his head back. He's making some sort of speech. "And this!" he yells, apparently at the climax. "This is why you never, never, ever disobey a rule! This is why you don't go into the Maze at night!"

He whips out a knife, pulling it from his belt. "Any last words, Thomas?" he asks cruelly.

"I—" Thomas begins.

Newt rips the blade of the knife across my brother's throat, killing him and cutting him off in one fell swoop. I scream, stumbling away from the boys. "Someone! Help!"

Minho's there and for a moment I think he's my knight in shining armor (only half kidding) when something cold snaps around my wrists.

Handcuffs.

"Minho," I gasp out.

He smiles wickedly. "Don't worry. It'll be fast." He draws his knife, shouts to the others. "Where's that freaking pole?"

Holy—

Shit—

A pole materializes next to me. I give it a worried glance. That's not supposed to be here.

My hands are forced over my head, tied to the pole. Minho smiles delicately at me, then rips the knife across my stomach. And my wrists.

That's when I kick him in the groin with both feet and scream something I really shouldn't. Something along the lines of _eff you_ but in a less polite way. Because hell, this is a dream.

He doesn't even flinch.

Because hell, this is a dream.

"SONOFA," he bellows. Drives the knife into my heart.

"Rose?"

I bolt awake and before I can recognize him I'm on my feet, backing myself into a corner. Minho holds up his hands in surprise. "Rose—are you alright?"

Only one way I can figure this out. I take a few steps towards him. "C'mere."

Beside me, Newt shifts in his hammock, mumbling nonsense.

Minho approaches carefully. Once he's close enough, I slam my foot into his crotch. He doubles over with a very un-Minho yelp.

Newt shoots to his feet. "What the hell's goin' on?!"

I blush furiously, wishing I'd been a little more careful. Thought it through.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Minho wheezes, now collapsed on the floor.

"I had a dream," I say to Newt. "Minho was stabbing me. I fought, but . . . nothing happened." Please see the double meaning, please see the double meaning—

He does. "C'mere." He draws me into a hug, and only when I meet his calm, solid body do I realize I'm shaking, violently. Like a leaf.

"I hate nightmares," I say.

"I hate girls who kick—" Minho starts, and cuts himself off, probably at a harsh look from Newt. "I'll be in the Gathering, if I can hobble my way over there."

Ooooh, he makes me want to slap him so bad. But there's that rule: never harm another Glader. I pretend to ignore Minho until he leaves, then sigh and look up at Newt. "You should go with him."

"Yeah," says Gally, who happens to be strolling by. "You'd make a great pair: both of you limping away—"

Newt must feel me stiffen, see the rage on my face, because he shakes his head at me. "Shut your hole, Gally."

"Or do you want to become a part of the Limping Pair?" I snap, unable to hold myself back. "Because if so . . . I'm here."

"Ooh, I'm so scared," Gally says.

"Just you wait," I snarl. "You're gonna be."

"I think that's enough," Newt says loudly. "Rose, go get some breakfast. This shank and I'll go ta the Gathering."

"Yessir," I say, snapping a salute. I brush past Gally and head off for the homestead for some food. Instead of Frypan handing out toast and eggs, it's some random Glader I've never seen before. Then again, Frypan probably does have a role in the Gathering. Whatever that is.

I eat with Chuck, then garden the morning away. A quick pause for lunch, and more gardening. I really like it. Gardening, that is, not lunch. Although lunch is good too.

At dinner I sit with Newt, alone on the outskirts of the eating area. He fills me in on what happened with Thomas: he's a Runner now, but before he can start training he's going to spend a day in the Slammer, because order must be kept in the Glade.

When I go to sleep, I'm not smiling my head off, but I do feel peaceful. Tonight no dreams haunt my sleep. It's nice.

A few days pass, and then word comes that one of the Runners—Uriah?—fell off something called "the Cliff" and now Minho's looking for another one. The day passes without event, aside from Newt steering me clear of Minho whenever the Keeper comes near us. I eat dinner and go to sleep, my dreams silent.

I'm woken up in the middle of the night by Minho and dragged out of the hammocks area.

"What is it, Minho," I say, my voice thick.

"We need another Runner," Minho says urgently.

"Whoop-de-doo," I say. "Tell me when you've decided on one and I'll help Frypan bake a cake."

"Rose, I need you as a Runner," Minho says. "You're fast and smart and a quick thinker. Violent, too."

"Is this why Newt kept you away from me for the entire day?" I ask, wide awake now.

"Yes." Minho glances around. "You'll start training tomorrow. If you want to be a Runner, that is."

"Lemme try it," I say.

He sighs. "Fine. I'll get you up early so we can set up before we go."

"Can I go back to sleep now?" I say.

"Yes."

I go back to sleep, right there on the lawn. It seems that I haven't been asleep for half a second when Minho's next shaking me awake. The sky's so dark I can barely see his face.

"Come on," he whispers. "Follow me."

I scramble to my feet, forcing myself to be awake, and follow him to the Homestead. He leads me through the ground floor to a storage closet, surprisingly big for the size of the building it's in. He waves his flashlight around, lands it on a box of running shoes.

"I'll stick with my boots, thanks," I say quickly.

"Alright." Minho walks deeper into the closet. "Lace them up tight though."

I crouch to do that, and as I relace them he drops things on the ground in front of me. A small wristwatch, the band made of leather, with a digital face. Nothing fancy. I pause in my lacing to strap it to my wrist.

"Only Runners and Keepers get those," Minho says. "Take care of it—we don't have a thousand of 'em." He drops a few flasks and a leather contraption in front of me. "Water bottles, your backpack." Another leather thing. "Lunch pack. Figure you don't want, say, shorts and a t-shirt, so . . ."

"No, I don't," I say. "Seeing as they'll all be men's."

A few sports bras land on the pile of stuff. I look up, alarmed. Minho blushes. "They came with your load in the Box. Figured . . ."

"Better keep them since there's a girl now," I say for him. "Thanks." I finish lacing my boots. "What else?"

"Come with me." He pushes a few boxes in the corner aside, revealing a trapdoor. I follow him down a set of very creaky stairs and wait as he fumbles around for some light. He pulls a string and a single lightbulb is revealed. It shows what's in the room: a bazillion weapons. There are shelves lining the walls, a few chunky tables, and an entire wall dedicated to archery. Everything else is covered with various weapons: knives, swords, wooden poles, metal spikes, barbed wire, chicken-coop mesh stuff, barbed wire.

"Knives," Minho says, nodding towards a trunk in the corner. "And make it fast. We still need to check out the Map Room before dawn."

I choose a short knife, a bit longer than a paring knife, and a longer one about the length of my forearm, with a double-edged blade. Minho takes me back upstairs and shows me where to put the knives on my backpack, in special sheaths made especially for them.

"Follow," Minho instructs. I gather up the stuff he gave me and follow him to the kitchen, where we pack two sandwiches each in our lunch packs, along with celery and water. All this goes into the backpack. Then, since Minho is making toast the hard way (on a frying pan), I slip out of the room to where Newt got my clothes from last time I changed. I put on a fresh pair of the exact same pants, a thick belt, one of the sports bras, and a brown tank top under a forest green shirt similar to Minho's in style.

When I get back to the kitchen, Minho's scraping blackened remnants of bread into the trash can, grumbling. Upon my arrival he looks up. "No toast today."

"Let's just go to the Map Room," I say.

"Good idea."

Outside, the sky's starting to lighten at the edges. Dawn is coming.

"Gotta make this fast," Minho says, as we're running full speed across the Glade to the Map Room. "Okay?"

"As long as I know what the shuck to do," I reply.

Minho wrenches open the door, which looks similar to a safe door, and flourishes his arm at it. "Ladies first."

Rolling my eyes, I walk in. the room is pitch black, until Minho flips a few switches, turning on overhead fluorescent lights. The room is about twenty by twenty feet and completely bared of all decorations. The only things in the room are a table, eight chairs, and eight trunks. The chairs are gathered around the centered table, and the trunks are spaced out evenly on the floor, two per wall. On the table are eight neat stacks of paper and pencils, one for each chair.

"Pull up a seat," Minho says. "I'll make this fast."

I take a deep breath and am hit with a strong smell of wet, mustiness laced with copper so strong I can taste it. "Oh," I choke, surprised by the scent.

Minho drops into a seat. "Oh what?"

"The smell," I say. "It surprised me."

"I like it." He points at the chair closest to his. "Sit."

I sit.

Minho takes a piece of paper and a pencil and starts sketching on it: one big box, then filling it in with smaller boxes in a three-by-three design. He labels the middle one GLADE and the other ones 1 through 8, starting in the upper left corner and going clockwise. He draws little notches here and there on the lines.

"Those are the Doors," he says, putting down the pencil. "You know about the ones from the Maze, but there are four more out in the Maze that lead to sections One, Three, Five, and Seven. They stay in the same spot, but the route there changes with the wall movements every night."

"Whoa, whoa," I say. "Hold up. The Maze changes?"

Minho closes his eyes briefly. "I thought Newt told you about that."

"He didn't," I say.

"We'll get back to that, then," Minho says. "Okay, so we have the Glade. Surrounded by eight sections, each one a self-contained, unsolvable square. The only thing even approaching an exit is the Cliff, and that isn't a good one unless you wanna die a horrible death by falling off." Minho tapped the map he'd drawn. "The walls move all over the shuck place every evening—same time as our doors shut. At least, that's when we think it happens, because we never really hear the walls moving any other time.

"We always have at least eight Runners," he goes on. "Including the Keeper, which is myself. One per section. It takes us a whole day to map out our area—hoping against hope that there'll be a shuck exit—and then we come back and draw it up, a separate page for each day."

"It takes you a full day to run through those little squares?" I ask.

Minho glares at me through his eyelashes and moves over to one of the trunks. He opens it. "C'mere."

I lean over his shoulder and look at the contents. The trunk's big enough that four stacks of Maps can fit, and all four reach the top. Each of the ones I can see are very similar: a rough sketch of a square maze, filling almost the whole page. The one I'm looking at has some information up in the top right corner. Section 8, Hank, Day 935.

"We figured out the walls were moving right at the beginning. As soon as we did, we started keeping track. We've always thought that comparing these day to day, week to week, would help us figure out a pattern. And we did—the mazes basically repeat themselves about every month. But we've yet to see an exit that will lead us out of the square. Never been an exit."

"That's depressing," I comment.

"But we can't give up," Minho says. He stands up. "Well, we've gotta get out of here if we want you in the Maze at all, ever, because Newt always wakes up at around this time, and . . ."

"He's a little protective," I finish, standing also. "Alright, then I'm ready to run." Surprisingly enough, I don't feel even the slightest tinge of nervousness.

"Good that." Minho scrawls a note on a piece of paper and leaves it on the table, then leads me out of the Map Room. He closes the door behind us. "We're on Section Four today."

"East Door," I say automatically.

"Good that," Minho says again. He breaks into a jog heading for the East Door.

"Where's Thomas?" I ask, jogging also. "Doesn't he normally come with you?"

"I paired him up with Max," Minho says. "He'll be fine."

He pauses at the East Door, probably about to ask me if I'm ready. In response, I keep jogging, right into the Maze.

 **Sorry for not updating sooner, I got the chapter finished late Tuesday but had to go to bed before I could update, and then on Wednesday I was really busy, so here we are, on Thursday . . . *sigh***

 **Again, sorry for the wait! Thanks for your faves and reviews! See you soon :)**


	8. Chapter 7

**ROSE**

Minho breaks into a run, a full-out run, once we're out of the main corridor. I stay beside him, following wordlessly as he makes automatic turns, lefts and rights. In my head I can see a map of where we are. Section Four is on our left.

Minho makes a right and I stop. "Minho, shouldn't we go that way?" I point left.

He turns around. "Uh . . ." Then he grins. "Nice job."

Even though I pepper him with questions as we go back to running, going in my direction, he says nothing. After maybe fifteen more minutes, we reach the Doors to Section Four. Without fully stopping Minho takes a notepad and pencil out of his bag, writes something, and puts it back in his backpack.

"What was that?" I ask, as we head into Section Four.

"I rely mostly on memory," Minho says, "but every fifth turn or so I make a note, mostly just what's related to yesterday—what's different today. Then I can make today's Map using yesterday's. Easy."

"Hmm."

We reach a three-way intersection. Minho doesn't skip a beat, just takes the leftwards path. Without stopping he slices a piece of ivy off the wall and chucks it behind him, narrowly missing my face.

"Bread crumbs," I say.

"I'm Hansel, you're Gretel."

"How nice of you."

"Why's that?" Another piece of ivy flies past my face.

"Because Gretel's the one that actually kills the witch."

"Not in my book."

"Then your book is seriously messed up."

"Alright," Minho says abruptly, as we near another intersection. "Your turn to cut the ivy."

My knife is in my hand before he can finish his sentence. I wait until we turn. Without thinking about it, I let my arms fly out. A piece of ivy is chopped off and thrown behind me and I can do it just as well as Minho.

He gives me a surprised glance but says nothing.

After a few more turns and a few more perfect ivy-chops, we slow down. "Break time," Minho says. I pull out my water bottle and take a few short gulps, then return it to its place. I get a piece of celery and start eating it.

"What was that about?" I say. "Back before we got to Section Four. You took a wrong turn."

"My way of testing you," Minho says. "The way I took was the long way, per say. You passed the test, by the way."

"Thanks." I finish the celery, ready before Minho is. For some reason I'm not even relatively winded. I feel perfectly in shape. More so than Minho—he looks a bit red in the face. I almost advise him to drink some water, because he's gonna overheat, but think better of telling him what to do. He's been in this business for nearly four years, and I've only been here a little less than a week.

We start moving again.

I slip into a rhythm. My feet pounding on the ground, my eyes fixed squarely on Minho's back, my knife slicing off ivy without having to even look. My brain is instinctively mapping out the route Minho's taking, making a path in my mind. It seems so familiar that eventually I just concentrate on keeping my breaths steady.

At exactly one o'clock, Minho stops. "Lunchtime."

We catch our breath and sit on the ground, eating our sandwiches slowly so we don't barf them back up. After a few minutes, when our appetites have been calmed a bit, Minho speaks.

"How," he says, "do you cut the ivy so well?"

I blink at him over the bread of my sandwich. "I dunno."

"It looks like you've been doing it for years," Minho says, voice harder than usual.

"What are you accusing me of?" I demand.

He looks at the ground. "Nothing. Just suspicious is all."

"Would you rather I was a freaking Greenie, unable to do anything?" I retort. "You picked me for this job—you said I was perfect for it. So shut your hole about the fact that I'm actually good at this."

He sighs and goes back to eating his sandwich.

About forty-five minutes after lunch, we reach a dead end. The only way out is the way we came. Minho makes another note and turns around. "Well, let's go then."

That's it? We just turn around? There's a small part of me that's surprised, but the larger part squelches it down, accepting that this is the end. I turn and follow Minho. "Anything different today?"

"Nope," Minho says. "Just the same old same old."

There's something in his voice that makes me think he's still wondering about my ivy-cutting abilities. Neither of us say anything the entire way back, mostly because there's only one break and both of us are too busy drinking water to talk.

When we get to the Glade, I'm halfway to the Map Room when Newt finds me. There are dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, his face is gaunt, and his ears are bright red.

"Minho," he says in a dangerously low voice.

Catfight, I sing-song silently, amused for about a half a second until Minho turns with flaming eyes.

"What?" he says.

"Do ya realize how worried I was?" Newt growls.

"Oh, how sweet," Minho says, placing a hand over his heart. "I'm flattered that you care about me so much."

I see Newt's hands ball into fists, know he's about to explode. "Not you, Minho. Rose."

"Then I'll be in the Map Room," Minho decides.

Before Newt can even take a breath to prepare himself to attack Minho I step between them, grabbing Minho's arm and placing a hand on Newt's chest. "Stop, both of you. Minho, be a sensible creature and actually talk to Newt, unless you want to end up with a bloody nose. Newt, try not to do anything too rash, because then you'll be Banished and this Glade can't function properly without a level head like yours. Okay?"

The two boys glare at each other.

"I'm not speaking to him," Minho says.

"Minho's an asshole," Newt informs me.

"Slim it!" I yell. "Oh my God, I am so tired of all this fighting! Can't we just put these things behind us for once? I'm fine, Minho's fine, Newt's fine, so let's just all go do something else!" I'm so frustrated I'm close to tears. "Just stop interacting if need be!" My fingers curl halfway. "Oh my God my God my GOD—"

I take my notepad of my backpack and throw it at Minho—the entire time we were in the Maze, I was making mental notes, and on the way back I filled it in with an entirely accurate drawing—and it hits him in the face with a loud, satisfying slap. I shove Newt in the chest so hard he nearly falls down. I'm so angry I can't speak. I storm away from them, searching desperately for something to punch. The opportunity presents itself when I hear Gally calling for the Builders to help him take down a wall. I walk past him to the wall he's gesturing at and throw my fist against it with all my might, making my knuckles bleed with the force.

"What the—" Gally exclaims, as the wall tips over with a loud crash.

"Thank you," I say, examining my knuckles. "You have no idea how good that felt."

Before he can reply, I jog away. My muscles settle into the rhythm they've been in for the past twelve-ish hours, pushing me into a somewhat exhausted run. I go to the kitchen, for some dinner, and head straight to bed. I don't feel entirely exhausted, but if I'm going to be out in the Maze tomorrow, I'm going to have to get a good night's sleep.

I wake as the Doors open. Newt is awake already, watching me from where he sits cross-legged in his hammock. He says nothing as I pull a fresh shirt on (but keep the tank top underneath on, it's just the shirt overtop that I change), lace up my boots, and throw my backpack over my head. He says nothing when I walk away.

I pack a sandwich and carrots and two bottles of water in my backpack, along with a new notepad that I may or may have not taken from the Map Room, and my two knives. I meet up with Minho in the Map Room and he assigns me to Section Two, which is the section off the North Door. I suppress my indignant feelings and jog for the North Door.

I'm not nervous.

I run.

When I get back from the Maze, Newt's waiting by the entrance. I give him a long, sweaty hug that he doesn't mind at all. Still we don't speak to one another. I start jogging for the Map Room, then go back to Newt and kiss him on his cheek, then sprint for the Map Room, leaving him standing by the closing Door with wide eyes.

My days settle into a familiar routine: wake up, pack, run. Return from the Maze, hug Newt, kiss him on the cheek, check in with Minho in the Map Room. Eat dinner, take a walk to stretch my stiffening muscles, sleep.

One day, when Thomas and I have been here for two weeks, I come out of the Maze to Thomas instead of Newt. I stop instantly, feeling panic already edging at my mind. "Where's Newt?"

Thomas must see that I'm worried, because he's quick to say, "He's fine, I promise." He gestures at himself. "Don't I get a hug?"

I roll my eyes. "Not with your stench, no. What's Newt doing?"

Thomas shrugs. "Preparing for a bonfire, I think he said." He gestures at the notepad in my hand. "Anything new?"

I shoot him a look.

Thomas holds up his hands. "Just checking! I didn't find anything either." He turns and starts walking for the Map Room. "You got back a bit late today."

"I was seeing how fast I needed to actually go," I say. "Why? Should I not?"

"I was a little worried," Thomas admits.

"Trust me, buddy," I say. "I can take care of myself, even if I'm only five-four."

"You're five-four?" Thomas asks, surprised.

"Yeah," I reply.

"Yes!" He punches the air. "Five inches taller! I thought you were five-five."

"Thanks," I say drily. "The self-confidence is real."

"Oh, come on," he says, smacking my shoulder. "Don't lose hope so fast."

"Don't smack me," I say, indignant.

He smirks. "You'll have to catch me." With that he takes off running. I let him have a five-second head start and tear after him, not in desperation but in sheer speed. The time it takes me to catch up to Thomas is longer than I'd expected—he really is a fast Runner. I push myself up next to him, smiling. "Just because I'm short doesn't mean I'm not fast!"

"I hate you," he says, and pulls ahead.

"The feeling is mutual," I say. "Race you to the Map Room."

He pulls ahead more. I kick my speed up a notch, smirking, and fly past him in a whirl of exhausted sweatiness. Just as one of the Runners is coming out of the Map Room I whip past him, leaving his hair ruffling. I tumble into my seat at the table, slap my open notepad on the wood, and start drawing, trying to hide my hard breathing.

When Thomas comes in, I lift my head and hide a grin. "Where've you been, Thomas?"

He ignores me and says to Minho, "That girl has superspeed, I swear."

I finish sketching out my Map and write my name and information in the corner, then place it on the neat stack in the open trunk behind me. "I'm gonna go take a shower."

"Whoa." Minho looks at Thomas. "Did she just say she'd shower? Like, for the first time ever?"

"It's probably not the first time ever," Thomas says. "But for the first time since coming to the Glade . . ."

"Not true," I say. "I go for dips in the pond occasionally."

"The scummy pond," Thomas says.

"Well, sorry if I don't want to go shower in a camp with a bunch of boys in it," I say hotly, drawing out "sorry" so it sounds like "soooorrrreeeeeeee". "That's just asking for trouble."

"Tell you what," Thomas says. "Minho and I will guard and make sure nobody does anything. Good that?"

"What?" Minho says incredulously. "Since when am I doing that?"

"Do you want me to shower or not?" I demand.

"Well . . . you smell terrible," Minho admits.

"Then it's decided," I say. "I'm showering now."

 **A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I had to fly across the country to go home and then on the way my computer broke. Great week for updates. (that was sarcasm.) I'm doing this from my best friend's computer, so I'm not sure when I'll update next because my computer still isn't fixed even though it broke on Wednesday :( Hopefully I will update soon!**


	9. Chapter 8

**ROSE**

The second I step under the hot water I want to cry. It feels so good to wash off all the grime and sweat and pond scum of the past two weeks. Amazingly good. Terrific. I stand there under the steady stream for ten minutes before even moving.

The Creators sent up girl toiletries with me also. I wash my hair with a girly shampoo, scrub at my skin with a dense brush covered in body wash, and work on untangling my hair with conditioner for what seems like twenty minutes. I also shave my legs and armpits, because damn they were getting hairy.

By the time I step out of the shower, fully dressed and ready for Thomas to braid my hair, it's dark out. Minho shoots me a glance but says nothing. Thomas starts French braiding my hair with nimble fingers. "That was a long shower."

"It's been a long two weeks," I reply. "I feel so much better now."

Minho leans in and sniffs my hair loudly. "You smell so much better now too."

"Oh, shove off," I say, grinning. "Hey, you two should shower too—I don't want you to come within two feet of me unless you're squeaky clean. Your scent will rub off on me."

"There goes your hair," Thomas says.

"After you're done with my hair," I revise. "Minho, you could shower now."

"Thanks for the recommendation," he says sarcastically, but goes into the shower anyway. Thomas finishes fiddling with my hair and gets in the next shower over. I skedaddle, hoping they don't expect me to guard for them.

My feet take me to the woods, to the stream where Newt and I talked for a bit that first day. It seems so long ago that it happened. I take a refreshing drink and sit back on the bank, smiling. I wonder if I liked him back then.

I think about how he looked when I first saw him. His blond hair was wind-tousled, his brown eyes dark worried pools, his slender-fingered hand outstretched to me. For a moment while he spun, shouting for water, I caught his profile, his straight nose wrinkled in concern, his dark eyelashes sweeping his face as he blinked.

Newt's feet appear in my line of vision. I jump up, startled. "Speak of the devil."

"Sorry?" he says, looking confused.

"I was just thinking about you," I say. "Is the bonfire ready?"

Newt grins. "You can read minds, Rosie." He offers me his hand. I take it and we start walking back through the forest. Newt lifts my hand to his nose and sniffs my knuckles, then my hair. "Didja shower?"

"Y—yeah," I say, startled by the proximity of his face.

He pulls away from my hair. "What a relief. You were startin' to smell like the slop pit."

"Wow, thanks, Newt," I say. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."

"You don't need ta feel special," he says, eyes fixed on a point in the distance. "You already are." He looks down at me, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "That is, now that you've showered."

"Will everybody please stop teasing me about my showering habits?" I exclaim good-naturedly.

"What habits?" Newt says, grinning.

"Alright, buddy," I say. "You're this close . . ."

"To a shower?" Newt says. "Your forms of torture sure are devastatin'."

"Oh, stop." I punch his arm with my free hand. "You're being a hypocrite. You haven't showered since I got here."

"How d'you know?"

"I watch you all the time," I whisper in a raspy voice, wiggling my fingers at him. He laughs, gently pushing my hand away. "Cut that out, it's creepy."

"That's my goal in life," I rasp.

"Okay, stop," he says, but he's still grinning.

We emerge from the trees and unconsciously untwine our fingers, our hands falling to our sides. We glance at each other, both with questioning looks, then snort and then high-five. Newt gestures out at the Glade. "Behold, my masterpiece."

A huge fire is raging inside a cluster of laughing, goofing off boys. They're talking or eating or wrestling, a heartwarming scene of brotherhood. I smile a little. "That's so cool."

"Go find us a log ta sit on," Newt says as we approach it. "I'll see if I can wrangle up some food and stuff."

I find a log on the outskirts of the commotion, far enough away that we'll be able to talk without shouting, but not so far that it seems like we aren't part of the occasion. Newt joins me in a little while, holding two plates of some sort of barbecued meat that smells delicious to my rumbling stomach. I take mine and scoot over, making room for him to lean against the log. We enjoy each other's company, eating in comfortable silence. Chuck comes around and takes our plates, grinning at us like he knows something we don't. After a while, Newt gets up with a quick "I'll be back in a mo," and comes back five minutes later with his face scuffed with dirt, a triumphant grin on his face, and a blue Mason jar of some unidentifiable amber liquid. His limp is more pronounced than usual, and this brings a question to the tip of my tongue. "Newt, why do you have a limp?"

Damn you, I think instantly, as he freezes mid-sit. You and your uncontrollable mouth, Rosalyn!

Newt slides down onto his butt, his face blank but his eyes churning with a colossus of emotions: anger, dread, pain, resentment, resignedness, devastation. I don't expect him to speak and am about to apologize when he blinks hard and says, "It'd been maybe seven months."

Oh.

"Seven months since I was brought up here, eight since the first Greenie was. We were still lookin' avidly for ways out, hadn't put up a system yet, only Runners. I was one. A Runner." He looks at me. "It was almost nighttime. The Doors were closin' soon."

Oh, no.

"There'd been a Griever on my tail, but I thought I had lost it. I had, actually. I could see the North Doors: I was only about ten, maybe twenty yards away from 'em." His gaze drops to his lap. "I was runnin' on top of the wall, because that was what being chased by a Griever had forced me ta do. The same Griever climbed onto the wall in front of me. I didn't want to suffer; I didn't want to stay in the Maze; I was half starved; I wanted to die. So kept runnin', then dove off the wall, over the Griever, expectin' ta hit the ground and wake up in heaven, or—albeit—Hell. If they even exist." He looks up, watching the flames of the bonfire. "I didn't, though. I wound up in the Homestead with a shattered ankle, the lower half of my shinbone stickin' through my skin and bleedin' everywhere, a broken rib, and no other physical injuries. I didn't tell Alby that it was attempted suicide until three months later. He banned me from having a real Glade job, because all of them were dangerous, and put me in second in command, so that if I went suicidal again I'd do it with about ten million pounds of guilt on my shoulders."

At some point in this, I've scooted closer, close enough to hug him. "Newt . . ."

"Don't," he whispers. I nod and slip my arms around him, pulling him into a close hug. We stay like that for a while, until Thomas comes up to us and asks for the Mason jar Newt has in his hand. After receiving it, my brother gives Newt a look and jogs off, calling, "I got it, Minho!"

Newt and I sit in silence for another while, until he speaks again.

"I didn't stop wishin'," he says brokenheartedly. "I didn't stop wishin' I'd died that night. Hadn't, not until a week ago."

I pull back and look him straight in the eye. "Why?"

He avoids the question, instead scrambling to his feet. "C'mon, I want ya ta do somethin'. Bring a knife."

"Newt," I say, my eyes widening to the size of an owl's.

"It's not what ya think," Newt says quickly. "I swear. Just bring a knife, okay?"

I slip the small one out of my boot, grip it tightly, and follow him across the Glade, away from the campfire. On the way he snags a torch from a random Slicer who I recognize but have never talked to. He shoots me a smarmy smile, to which I brandish the knife. His eyes widen and he quickly goes back to talking to the other Slicers.

"What was that about?" Newt says, leading the way across the Glade, his torch sending sparks out into the night.

"I don't like flirters," I say, my voice a little colder than necessary.

Newt laughs, but says nothing until we reach the wall of the Glade. He gestures at it with his torch. "I figured it was time for ya to carve your name into the Wall of Gladers."

"Aw, thanks," I say, not mentioning the fact that Thomas scratched his name in on his second day. Newt hears the cynicism in my voice. "No problem, Miss Sass."

"Not you too," I groan. I lift my knife to the wall. There's a gap between Thomas's name and Newt's, and I scratch ROSE in there as neatly as I can, which isn't saying much. On the end of the E, the knife slips, glancing off the wall and nicking the side of my forearm, which I've been leaning on. Blood instantly starts running down to my elbow. I stop it before it can reach my shirt. "Wooeee, everything about this place is dangerous."

"I take offense to that," Newt says, his accented voice soft. He reaches across me and takes my injured arm in his hand. "Ouch, that's not cool. The one bad thin' about those Runner blades is that they're sharp."

"Bad?" I say.

"In this scenario," Newt amends. He leans the torch against the wall and holds my arm up close to his face. "On the good side, it was sharp, so it made a clean cut."

He looks up at me for confirmation. I shrug. "Don't ask me, I'm not a Med-Jack."

"Damn," he says. "You're not?"

"Nope," I say blithely.

"Seem to have healed me," Newt says, voice quiet. I lift my eyes from his hand, the one that's enclosed on my arm, and feel a spark of . . . something. I can't describe it. "Have I?" I murmur.

Now, technically, this would be where he kisses me, but I think it's more me kissing him. Or maybe it's both of us that move closer. It really doesn't matter how you phrase it, though. Let's just say our mouths are touching. But let's not, because that sounds weird. We're kissing, okay? Kissing.

And it's not that Gally kiss, where it seemed he was playing a game called "Let's See How Much of Rose's Face We Can Slobber on in Less Than Two Seconds". This is gentle. Soft. Caring. Tender. Romantic. It feels just right.

My hand climbs his chest, resting the heel of my palm on his collarbone and playing with the hair at the base of his neck. He circles an arm around my waist, drawing me closer, his other hand still holding my forearm, his thumb moving in gentle circles on the skin just below my wrist.

Before either of us can do much else, Minho's voice rings out, sending us jumping apart. "Well, there's your kiss, Rose, you can't say you're not boyfriend-girlfriend anymore."

I blush furiously, thankful that Minho can't see me clearly. I can't think of anything to say to this.

"Don't tell anyone," Newt says as he reaches back for the torch, more an order than a plead.

Minho takes a look at our faces in the flickering light from the torch and sees we're both deadly serious. He nods. "I won't tell anyone."

Newt glances at me, but I'm still blushing too hard speak. "Thanks," he says.

"Well . . . maybe Thomas." Minho tips his head to the side, a small smirk crossing his face.

"I'll tell Thomas, thank you," I say quickly, finding my voice again. "He's my brother—I have that right." And you'll probably make up some terrible story about it. I don't say that part.

"If you insist," Minho sighs.

"What I'm tryin' ta say," Newt says pointedly, "is that we're gonna keep this a secret. Understand, Minho?"

Minho nods, and is more serious this time. "Okay." He turns and jogs a few paces, then jogs back. "Oh, I forgot to tell you: Zart would like to talk to Newt."

"Thanks," Newt says, and the heavy gratefulness in his tone suggests he's not just talking about Zart's request.

"Thanks," I echo.

Minho smirks. I know what he's thinking. He has a weapon against us now. He turns, still smirking, and jogs back to the fire.

"Anyone other than him," Newt says quietly, staring after him.

"Like Chuck, who can't keep a secret for his life?" I say, curling my fingers through his.

"Anyone other than him and Chuck," Newt amends.

"How about you just say you'd rather it had been no one at all," I say. "And in a way, Minho's the best option."

"Why not Thomas?" Newt says, still watching Minho, now with his eyes narrowed.

"Because he'd chop off your head for touching me," I say. "Protective older brother stuff."

Newt nods knowingly. I step in front of him and take the collar of his shirt in my hand. I don't have to pull him down—he does it for me, leaning in and pressing his lips to mine. All too soon he breaks the kiss off, sounding regretful when he says, "Well, I hate ta say this, but I'm leavin' ya for Zart the Fart."

I laugh. "And I'm leaving you for my brother."

We walk back to the bonfire and split up, him heading for the Track-Hoes, me for the Runners. Minho doesn't appear to have been talking to Thomas, but when I reach them my brother is on his feet in less than a second.

"What?" I say, before he can start accusing me of anything. I glare at Minho, who shakes his head in earnest.

"What were you doing with Newt?" Thomas demands.

"Scratching my name into the wall," I say truthfully.

"Then what's this?" He lifts my arm, turning it to reveal the scratch, which is now covering my arm and hand in a glove of blood.

"The knife slipped," I say, also truthfully. "On the E at the end of my name."

"The hell it did," Thomas hisses.

I grab his hand and start pulling him away. "Look, Thomas, we're each allowed to have our own lives, okay?"

He pulls his hand back but follows me anyway. "I know that, Rose. I'm just worried about you."

Oh, shit, this is not going to go over well.

"I'm fine," I promise.

"Not according to your arm," Thomas protests.

"I'll get it taken care of," I say. "Listen . . ." Oh crap, crap, crap, I can't tell him! I don't know how! "Um . . ."

"Yeah?" It's probably meant to be helpful, but it just makes it harder. "Uh—you know . . . Newt and I are a thing . . ."

"Yeah," Thomas says reasonably, nodding.

"Well, he kissed me," I blurt out.

"Okay," he says.

"On the mouth," I say.

"Okay," he says.

"Just now." I'm kind of expecting a little more than a plain "okay".

"Seriously?" he looks confused. "I thought you two had already gotten past the kissing on the mouth thing."

"Thomas!" I shriek, punching him. "That's not—"

"Hey," he says, smiling and holding up his hands. "I'm just stating cold, hard facts."

"So," I say cautiously, "you don't have a problem with it?"

Thomas shrugs, a line appearing between his eyebrows. "Well . . . I don't know. As long as he doesn't hurt you, I'm fine with it. Good that?"

"Glader slang," I say, "sounds so weird coming out of your mouth."

"So I've been told," Thomas says.

I give him a quick hug and we go back to the bonfire. "Just keep it quiet, okay? Like, don't tell Chuck."

"Got it," Thomas says, sitting down. I join him.

"Ya know," Minho says, startling the crap out of me since I hadn't realized he was there, "it's kind of obvious that you and Newt are, like, a couple, because every time you come out of the Maze he's waiting for you with a big hug and then you kiss him on the cheek. Just saying."

"Details," I scoff, waving my hand.

Newt lowers himself to the ground beside me. "Details about what?"

"Nothing," Minho says, smiling mischievously.

"I told Thomas," I say.

"Good that." He curls his arm around my shoulders. "I hope you're okay with that, Tommy?"

Thomas shrugs. "I . . . yeah."

"He thought we were having sex," I say bluntly.

"I did not!" Thomas yelps, as Minho bursts out laughing.

"That's what it sounded like," I say.

"No!" Thomas smacks Minho. "Stop laughing, you shuck-face. I said I thought you'd gotten past the kissing on the mouth part."

"See?" I say, looking at Newt, who's watching this with a contentedly amused expression. "It sounds like he thinks we're having sex."

"Oh, don't get me involved in this," he says, grinning.

"Okay, fine," Thomas says. "It sounds like that, but it's not what I meant. I meant I thought you kissed all the time."

"Would you like a shovel for that hole you're digging yourself into?" I ask sweetly.

"I dunno," Minho says, "it's probably deep enough that he's burning alive at the core of the earth."

"If we're even on Earth," Thomas mutters, putting a damper on the conversation.

After a while, Minho stands up, stretching. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I have to get up shuck early tomorrow, so I'm gonna go get some sleep. You probably should too, Rose."

I stifle a yawn. "Yeah, probably."

Thomas nods. "I'll come too."

Newt stands up, offers his hand to me. I punch him in the knee (gently) and get up on my own. "Chivalry is sexism in disguise," I tell him.

"Sometimes," he says.

I sigh. "There's not even any point in arguing with you, is there?"

He doesn't reply. I take this as a yes and head off to the hammocks, checking my watch aimlessly. It's ten fifteen.

In approximately seven or eight hours I have to be in the Maze.

I drop into my hammock, exhausted, and fall asleep without even taking off my shoes, which seems to be a recurring theme with me.

I next wake up at maybe three a.m., when someone's dragging me out of my hammock and tying my hands behind my back. They've already stuffed a gag in my mouth. The best thing I can hope to do is wake someone up by kicking them.

I spasm out, struggling as much as possible. Above me, I catch a glimpse of an arched eyebrow.

Gally.

Someone slams their knee into my side, then wraps an arm around my neck, squeezing it so that only just enough air can get through that I stay relatively conscious. My squirming grows weaker and weaker until I can hardly move, using all my strength just to breathe. Even that asset is taken away from me, though, and I black out.

When I next wake up, I am furious. Someone's tying my leg to a table, and I flail out with it. My boot connects with something solid. I lurch upwards, untying my other leg. I snatch my knife from the waistband of my pants and swing it in a wide circle around me, at the same time ripping the blindfold and gag off my face. I'm in the middle of the forest, and somehow there's a freaking table here. I can see Gally and three others.

"Explain."

My tone leaves no room for anything other than what I order. I hate this place. I hate Gally. I will get him Banished. I will.

"It was Gally's idea," one of them blurts.

"Shut up!" Gally shouts.

I lift my shirt, feeling along my side for where they kicked me. I can feel it bruising. That should be proof enough for his Banishment. Plus Newt can attest to him kissing me on my first day.

"You're dead, Gally," I say in a low voice, and turn to go.

Pain flares along my shoulder. A screech flies past my lips. The entire left side of my body goes cold, and when I move my shoulder I realize there's a knife in it.

I break into a run, no longer angry, just scared. If they catch me God only knows what they'll do.

Hate blood.

Hate them.

Hate everything.

I fling myself from the trees and slam into Newt so hard my nose hurts and I bounce off, barely managing to catch myself before my knifed shoulder hits the ground. "Gally," I gasp out.

"What about 'im?" Newt demands, instantly by my side.

I struggle to get up. "Ambushed me, tried to rape me, kneed me in the side, knifed me—"

"He didn't." Newt's on his feet, eyes searching the forest.

"Are you alright?" This is Thomas, kneeling on my other side. He sees the knife in my shoulder. "Newt, stop! Go get a Med-Jack!"

Newt crouches, kisses my forehead, and is gone, racing off into the night with his limp, his limp which I have grown to love.

My eyelids start fluttering. Damn, I'm tired. It's the freaking middle of the night . . .

Slap.

"What the hell?" I demand, rubbing my stinging cheek. "Thomas, what was that for?"

"I'm sorry," he says. "But you need to stay awake."

"Right," I say. "Got it. Gimme something to do."

He pauses. "Sing."

"Excuse me?" I say. "I don't remember any songs at all!"

"Make one up," he says.

"Fine." I clear my throat. "Trapped within these—hell no."

"Oh, come on," Thomas protests. "You sang in the shower earlier, why not now?"

"I'm sorry?" I bolt upright. "Were you watching me in the shower?" My arms itch to cross my chest, but I don't want to anger (so to speak) my shoulder any further.

"No," Thomas exclaims, and there's something about his eyes that assures me he's telling the truth. "You were singing, Minho and I could hear you. You were humming some sort of odd song . . ." He starts humming.

"We were never welcome here, we were never welcome here at all. No. Because it's who we are, doesn't matter if we've gone too far, doesn't matter if it's all okay, doesn't matter if it's not our day. Oh won't you save us, from what we are, don't look clear cause it's all uphill from here . . . oh." The words to the song spring from my mouth before I can stop them or even think about where they may have come from. I clap my hands over my mouth, sending a fresh wave of pain through my shoulder. I fall into Thomas, every ounce of strength being used to keep me from screaming. When I can speak again, I croak out, "Before you ask, I have no idea where that came from, how I know it, or what the song is."

Thomas seems to regain his voice. "Ah . . . okay then . . ."

Everything slowly starts going hazy. Thomas grows a double, floating next to him, four eyes staring down at me with concern instead of just two. He speaks, but I can't hear him. I reach for his other him. "Thomas, there's two of you . . ."

He says something else, but I can't hear him.

I can't hear anything.

 **EEEEEEEEEEEEP! THEY KISSED! YAAAAAY! Is it wrong for me to be fangirling over my own story, because that's totally what I did when I wrote this chapter. Sorry for the late update! (Computer has been fixted, BTW, for which I am eternally grateful. My brother is some sort of technology wizard.)**


	10. Chapter 9

**THOMAS**

"Thomas, there's two of you," she says.

Crap.

Her eyes glaze over. I slap her face. "Roz!" There's no response, so I slap her again, harder. "Roz!" My voice grows a desperate tone. "Rose! Wake up!"

"What's wrong?" Newt races up, the Med-Jacks Clint and Jeff on his heels. My desperation fades to the background. They can help.

"Knife in the shoulder," I say to the Med-Jacks. Newt makes a half-worried, half-impatient choking sound in his throat and bites his lip. I cast a glance at him sympathetically and turn back to Clint and Jeff. "She has her eyes open, but she's completely blanking out. Hey!" I shake her, hard, my panic returning.

"Don't do that, man!" Jeff snaps. "Clint, gimme a hand."

"What are you doing?" I demand.

"Get offa her, mate," Newt says gently.

"No!"

I feel a pair of wiry arms snake through mine, pulling me away from my half-dead sister. I lash out frantically, yelling. "You WON'T!" My fist connects with something solid. "Don't touch her! I hate you! You—"

Newt cracks me around the ear, releasing me so I fall to the ground. He plants a knee on my chest and glares at me. He's bleeding heavily from his nose, and when he speaks, he sounds congested. "They are helpin', ya bloody buggin' shuck shank," he snarls. "Put your ass on the ground and stop giving people freakin' bloody noses!"

Only a few words register: helping, ass, put, ground, nose. I nod weakly and Newt stands up, shedding his sweatshirt and holding it to his nose. I sit up and press the heels of my palms into my eyes, worry washing over me. Dammit, I want my sister to be okay.

"HEY!" There's a loud thud and a louder shriek of pain. Rose's voice sounds. "The HELL are you doing?!"

I spring to my feet, and this time Newt doesn't stop me, probably because he, too, is racing for my sister. He drops beside her, helps her up. Clint is bent double, groaning, and Jeff is standing several feet away, looking as though he jumped away. I stride over and heave back for a large slug.

"Never harm another Glader!" Newt shouts. I stop, thinking he's talking to me, but when I look over my shoulder, my fist still drawn back, he's standing and glaring flush-faced at Gally. "Never harm another shuck Glader, Gally! That was your bloody rule! The one you came up with! And now look at this: your knife in her shoulder! If that's not a direct violation of the rules, then ya can paint my freakin' nose bright pink and hang me upside down from the Glade walls!"

I let my hand fall and storm over to Newt, standing at his side. The enraged Glader has his knife out, his knuckles white around the grip. In one smooth motion, I unsheathe my two Runner blades and bend my knees slightly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Minho darts between us, hands held out in a placating fashion. "What the shuck is going on?"

By now, most of the Glade is up, people staring at us. I give Chuck a two-fingered wave, then turn my attention to Gally. He's smirking. I wanna punch him so shuck bad.

"He stabbed Rose in the shoulder," Newt shouts, looking angrier than I have ever seen him.

"Wrong," Rose's weak voice corrects. Everyone's heads whip to her. She casts Gally a full-fledged glare, then continues. "He tried to rape me on two occasions, and threw a knife at me, lodging the bloody thing in my shoulder." She casts a nervous glance at Newt when she says "bloody", as though it's something only he can say, but he hardly notices. Rose's voice hardens. "I'll tell the whole story tomorrow, in the Gathering where we decide exactly how we're going to Banish him."

She struggles to her feet in the shocked silence and nods at the Med-Jacks. "Lead on."

They turn and help her towards the Homestead. Over her shoulder, she calls, "I'd recommend locking him in the Slammer overnight, else he might run off."

Everyone looks at Gally.

He shrugs.

Nearly the entire group of Gladers swarms him, dragging him away to the Slammer. Newt and I exchange uneasy glances, then make to follow Rose.

Minho dances in front of us, placing gloved hands on our chests. "Hold up, shanks. Where are you going?"

"Where do you think, Minho?" I'm in no mood for him right now, sarcasm or no. "To go make sure my sister lives through the rest of the night!"

"Let him go, Minho," Newt says softly.

Minho gives both of us a hard look, but steps aside, joining us as we head for the Homestead. None of us speak to each other for the rest of the night.

Clint and Jeff gently peel away Rose's shirt around her wound after laying her back-up on one of the beds and taking out the knife. They stitch the wound closed, making her hiss, squeeze Newt's fingers so hard they start turning purple from lack of blood, and punch me in the stomach. But none of us complain.

The Med-Jacks give her some sort of ten-hour sedative thing and file out of the room with a "call us if anything weird starts happening".

I groan, slumping to the floor. Newt gives me an odd look. "You okay?"

"Freaking tired," I say.

He tosses me a pillow. "Get some sleep. I'll stay up and make sure—"

I remember Rose talking to me about Newt getting zero sleep and shake my head. "No, you should sleep."

"Take turns," Minho suggests somewhat icily.

I stand up, stretching. "Thanks for the advice, genius. Guess we should go to you for all great, obvious ideas." My tone is so scathing that even Minho looks surprised. I turn away from him. "C'mon, Newt, I'll go first."

"How about both you shanks—" Minho starts.

"How about ya shut up, Minho," Newt snaps, releasing Rose's hand and standing up. "Because I'm gettin' sick and tired of your bloody jokes. You and Tommy go ta sleep; you'll need to run the Maze tomorrow."

"No we won't," Minho snaps back. "There's gonna be a Gathering tomorrow, plus we don't have to run the Maze. We already know what it's gonna look like tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. There's no getting out of here, Newt, and you of all people should know that."

Newt shoots him a depressingly dirty look. Before he can say anything, I step between the two of them. "I'll go first," I repeat, in a hard voice. "You two both go to sleep."

Minho starts to speak, but I glare at him. "Do. It."

He blinks, looks away sullenly, and exits the room. Newt moves to the corner and slides down, pressing his back into the space where the walls meet. "Wake me up when it's my turn ta watch her, Tommy."

"Alright," I lie.

Within a minute, he's fast asleep. I cover his legs with a blanket and sit by Rose's side. I have no intention of waking him up; he needs his sleep.

After an hour, I fall asleep too. I'm too tired to do anything else.

When I wake up, my watch says it is twelve forty-five. I bolt upright with a gasp, my eyes flying to Newt's corner. He's snuggled up under the blanket, his head resting on his forearm, snoring faintly. Phew. I don't have to face his wrath, at least.

Minho opens the door. "Tho—"

"Shh," I hiss, pointing at Newt. Minho understands and beckons me. I squeeze Rose's hand and follow the Keeper of the Runners out of the room.

"Anything weird happen?" Minho asks.

"Nope," I say, hoping I'm not lying.

"You fell asleep, didn't you," he says.

I blush. "Maybe."

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Go back in there and make sure she doesn't have a heart attack or anything."

"Who?" Rose appears in the doorway, leaning heavily on it. She looks like she just woke up, zombie-style. She probably did, though.

"You," Minho says. "Come on. It's time for the Gathering."

 **ROSE**

"Okay," I say, after processing Minho's words. "Let me just get Newt." Before he can say anything, I close the door in his and Thomas's faces and turn to Newt. Someone must have gotten him a blanket, because he's pulled it up to his shoulders. His head is resting on his forearm, his wrist. His mouth is slightly open. His hair is ruffled and messy. He looks beautiful.

"Newt," I say quietly, kneeling beside him, careful not to use my shoulder. "Newt, honey, it's time to wake up."

"Gfm wasy," he mumbles, turning his nose towards the floor.

I'm tempted to leave him like this; he's adorable. But I gently shake his shoulder, pulling the blanket off him. He groans and opens his eyes.

"Hey there, precious," I say.

He shoots upright, sleepiness fading. "Wh—what time is it?"

I check my watch. "Twelve forty-three."

"Bloody shank," Newt mutters.

"Who?" I turn around and scoot into the corner beside him, wrapping my arm around him. He turns his head and kisses my hair. "Your brother. He promised me he'd wake me up after a few hours. He didn't, obviously."

"Obviously," I murmur.

He takes my chin and turns it towards him. "Do you . . ."

"Want to kiss you?" I say, smiling. "Yes, hell ye—" He cuts me off by pressing his lips to mine. I adjust my position, tilt my head, brace my hands on his chest. My body sings with pleasure, completely in love with the way his body fits to mine, like we're connecting puzzle pieces. I slip my leg over his lap, sliding onto him and deepening the kiss.

At last we break apart, both a little flushed and a little breathless. I bite my lip, losing myself in his gorgeous brown eyes. For a while, neither of us speak, we just sit there, me on his lap, gazing at each other. Memorizing the other's face.

I finally stand up, swing my foot over his legs, and heave him to his feet with my good hand/arm/shoulder. "We should probably go to the Gathering."

Newt gives me one final peck on the lips. "Alright." He laces his fingers with mine and we head towards the Gathering building, separating when we reach the deck. I go in first. Most of the other Keepers are gathered (I don't see Zart or Winston, the Keeper of the Slicers), and Gally stands in the middle of the room, arms folded like he's been waiting for a long time. Playing up my hurt shoulder, I walk stiffly to an empty seat and carefully sit down, hissing in real pain when I accidentally touch the back of my chair with my shoulder.

"Let the Gathering come ta order," Newt says, walking in and slamming the door. The caring expression he wore less than thirty seconds ago is gone, replaced by hard indifference. "Rose, what do you have to say?" He gestures at the floor.

I stand up and cross to where he pointed at. And, taking a deep breath, I tell everyone exactly what happened both times Gally tried to hurt me. And both times he succeeded. There are many interruptions, but after the first three Newt shouts that whoever next cuts in will be sentenced for a day in the Slammer, because he has no patience for the "shit" that they're protesting. I finish off with, "You say Gally's the one who thought up the rule 'Never harm another Glader'? Well, tell me this: do I not count as a Glader, and is Gally not violating his own rule?" I cross my arms and stare at him, a wolf stare that says Don't mess with me. "You may think Gally's a good leader, you may look up to him, but you don't know what he's really like. One girl comes into the Glade and he turns into a monster." I nod at Newt.

"Alri—" he starts, but when everyone's realized that I'm done they break out in wild exclamation. It's at least fifteen minutes of all-out shouting before Newt can finally make himself heard. "SIT YOUR BLOODY SHUCK BUTTS ON THE GROUND," he screams at last, his face going slightly red from the effort.

Most of the Gladers calm down a little, enough for Newt to ask Gally to speak. I sit back down with a slight smirk; whatever he comes up with won't be half as good as mine.

He crafts a somewhat decent explanation for his actions, and I don't comment: but when he comes to justification of his near-rape, I say loudly, "Ooh, this'll be a winner." Newt closes his eyes briefly as the Gathering bursts into a cacophony of yelled opinions.

After some time everyone settles down again. Newt seems to have given up on trying to mitigate the Gathering and is standing there, arms crossed, slouching. But he straightens up and gestures at Gally. "Continue."

Gally launches into some backwards explanation for what he was going to do, but all it seems to me that he's doing is digging himself a hole. At one point when he gets a bit flustered and is searching for a word, I take the opportunity to offer, "Would you like a shovel, Gally?" He shoots me a filthy look and finds the word he was looking for.

A few minutes later he stops, makes it obvious he's done. The Gathering erupts yet again, this time so loudly that I want to clap my hands over my ears. Again Newt seems to give up on mitigation and slouches where he stands. Minho finally takes it upon himself to do something and charges into the middle of the room, waving his hands and bellowing mingled insults and orders. He calms everyone down and says, "Let's take a vote."

Shouting begins.

"SHUT UP!" Minho screams, cutting them off. He waits a few seconds, then continues. "Let's take a vote. Rose, you don't get to participate since you're not a Keeper."

Neither is Newt, I think, but I'm not going to decrease Gally's chances of Banishment, so I just not once and sit back to watch.

"All in favor of Gally's Banishment, raise your hand!" Minho says loudly. About half the hands in the room go up, including his and Newt's. Minho looks to Newt, who appears to be counting. He faces Minho and mouths, Ten.

The Runner nods. "Okay, put your hands down. All in favor of Gally not being Banished, raise your hand."

About half the hands in the room go up. I'm surprised: I didn't think that a) there were so many Gally supporters, and b) that so many people had actually bought his pathetic excuses. Newt counts, then turns slowly to Minho. Ten, he mouths again. Minho rubs his forehead, closing his eyes. I bite my lip. What happens now? Do they make some sort of deal?

"It's a tie," Minho announces. "Any ideas?"

I smack my forehead with my palm as the Gathering goes ballistic. I can barely hear myself think over the noise. I stand up and walk out into the middle of the room, waving my hands in a "quiet down" gesture. Surprisingly, everyone goes silent.

I collect some of my thoughts. "If one person speaks while I am still talking, so help me God I will break your neck." I give everyone a hard stare, softening it when I look at Newt and Minho. Then I whirl back to Gally. "This man—if you could call him that—is a liability. Newt once told me that this Glade revolves around trust. And you Banish anyone you can't trust, correct? So how do you live with Gally, always wondering what he'll do next?" I raise my hands. "That's all I have to say."

"I have an idea," Gally says, before anyone can speak. "Seeing as about half of the people in this room still trust me, I'm going to go ahead and say this. If you can survive one night in the Maze—this night—then I will let you Banish me."

I lift my chin. "Let's take a vote, then."

"Whoa, hold up," Newt says. "No. There is no way in—"

I give him a look. He closes his mouth, blinking slowly.

"A vote," Minho says tiredly. "All in favor of Gally's idea, raise your hand."

About three quarters of the hands go up. Minho's face grows slightly pinched as he looks at the results. He doesn't speak, so I do.

"It's decided, then." I hide my nervousness. "I'm going into the Maze tonight. Gathering dismissed." And I leave, throwing the door open and stalking through it, away from the silence. As I round the corner of the porch, I'm assailed by Thomas and Chuck. "Well?" my brother says. "How'd it go?"

I want to burst into tears and fall into his arms. I am a stupid idiot (redundant, I know). There's no way in hell I'm going to be able to survive a night in the Maze. Thomas barely did that, and he's a guy. They just seem to be tougher, you know?

But instead of crying, I smile, not letting my always-confident exterior crack. "Great. We got Gally Banished."

"How?" Chuck says excitedly.

"When?" Thomas asks.

I do some calculations. "Tomorrow evening." I don't answer Chuck's question. I'm not ready to break it to Thomas.

"Why not tonight?" my brother says, frowning.

Minho brushes past me, bumping my shoulder with his. "Because your shuck sister has to prove she can spend a night in the Maze. And she agreed willingly to it. It was Gally's idea."

"What?" Thomas stares at me like I'd driven a knife into his skull.

"How stupid are you?" Chuck asks me, sounding almost curious.

"Nowhere near as stupid as you," I snap. God dammit, can't people leave me be for five seconds without telling me how freaking stupid I am? I get it! I'm an idiot! I—"

"May I speak to you?" Newt's voice is acid, so cold it burns. He marches off the porch before I can reply. Thankful for the interruption, I follow him into the forest. We walk for maybe ten minutes. Then Newt stops but doesn't face me. "Explain."

It's about four thirty; the doors close at five thirty. I don't want to fight with him. I stare at the ground, tirades piling up in my head. I don't allow them to escape from my mouth. I don't want to mess up.

You already have.

"This is a death wish," Newt says, when he seems to realize I'm not going to speak.

"I know." My voice comes out in a whisper.

"You think you're bein' brave," he says coolly. "But suicide isn't brave, it's cowardly."

"Is that what you think this is about?" My head jerks up, horror and anger making a deadly mix in my veins. "Proving exactly how brave I can be?"

"It isn't?" His voice isn't rising. It hurts. I want him to shout. "Then what is it? Provin' how many people ya can hurt with one blow? D'ya think I haven't suffered enough? So many of my friends are gone, but I have to watch you join them too?"

"I . . ." Speak, Rose, speak! "I'm not going to die, Newt." There, that's it, force some of that shattered confidence back into your voice.

"How d'ya know that?" He's still not looking at me.

I rub my nose. "Well, I'm the only girl, right? So they must have sent me up here for a reason. They being the Creators."

"What, ta split the Glade in half? Ya think you're special, Rose? Ya think that because you're the only girl here, the Creators won't let you die? You're not special. You're replaceable. There're other girls out there."

I try to ignore the knife that he just stabbed through my heart by saying that I'm not special. "And you know this how?"

"Well, if there's a Maze of boys, it makes sense that there's a Maze of girls, too. If they need another girl, they can find one."

I'm replaceable. To you. I thought you just said that you didn't want to watch me die!

"Ya just got yourself killed without a second thought," Newt goes on. "It's like ya don't even care anymore. Ya just wanna get out in the fastest way possible."

"If I wanted that, I would have stabbed myself in the heart already," I shout, losing all my forced calm. "Kind of like you just did!"

"Welcome to the club," he says acidly.

"Stop," I yell. "Just stop, Newt! You really think that I haven't been over this already? You think I don't know that I'm going to die? You think I don't know how stupid I am? I'm trying to do what's right for the Glade. I'm trying to keep you and everyone else safe. I—"

"Okay, Rosie." Newt's voice is dead. "Whatever ya say." He turns and limps past me, not touching me.

He doesn't look back.

I slump to the ground and cry.

 **THOMAS**

I pass a stricken-looking Newt on my way to find Rose at five o'clock. They talked earlier, but he stumbled out of the woods twenty minutes after they went in, staggering to the wall of names. He dropped to the ground beneath it and didn't let anyone near him. Now its starting to get dark, and I have to find Rose so she can pack and get into the Maze before the Doors close. As much as I love her, and don't want her to do this, I wouldn't be able to stand another day of waiting.

I pause by Newt, opening my mouth to speak.

"She's in the woods," Newt says hoarsely, not looking at me. It pains me to see my best friend like this. Rose probably broke his heart with her rash decision.

"Eh, sorry?" I hear myself say.

Newt lifts his head. His face is thin, pale, drawn. His eyes are dark and haunted. There's a tenseness around his mouth that I've never seen before, not even when Alby and Minho were out in the Maze for too long. "She's in the woods," he repeats slowly, as though he's talking to an infant. "Rose is in the woods."

If you hurt her . . . I let the thought die. It's more like he hurt her, probably. Knowing that my sister has volunteered to commit suicide is trying to kill me. The only way it isn't is because I know I can't let her go into the Maze with everyone having turned a cold shoulder on her. Then she will have given up hope entirely. I can't have that.

If it's this hard for me, how hard is it for Newt?

"Thanks," I say, a little belatedly. I want to say something else, but don't know what it could be. So I offer a sympathetic smile that I instantly regret—does it look like I want my sister to die?—and trudge off, towards the forest. I walk for maybe three minutes through the trees without seeing a single sign of my sibling. Then, just as I'm about to bellow her name, I hear a slight snuffling sound somewhere behind me. I spin, not realizing I'm reaching for my Runner knife until it's gripped safely in my hand. I force myself to say my sister's name. "Rose?" My voice nearly cracks, and if she has ears she'll hear the amount of control it takes for me to keep it under control.

"Thomas." Her voice is thick. She makes a small noise as though she's trying to speak but is unable to.

"Where are you?" I ask, peering into the dimly lit forest. The thick canopy above us makes it seem like it is three hours darker than it actually is. "I can't see you."

"Bushes to your left," she replies.

I find her huddled at the foot of a somewhat steep slope behind the bushes on my left, tears streaking a thin layer of dirt on her face. She looks devastated.

I hide my feelings of betrayal and anger, at least until I make my mouth say something, and then it's out of my control. "What did he do?" comes bursting out. I no longer feel like I'm Newt's friend. I drop to the forest floor beside her and pull her into a hug.

"I don't think it was just him," she says, understanding who "he" is, "so much as a combination of both of us."

I knew it wouldn't work out. I don't say that; that would make her cry more. Already I can feel my shirt dampening. "Hey, hey, don't cry. Don't be afraid."

"I'm not scared," she croaks. "I'm not afraid to die. I'm not afraid of the Maze—if you've survived a night in there so can I. I'm scared that I won't be able to say goodbye to everyone I love if I do die. You, our mother and father . . . Newt . . . I want to die having made my peace with the Glade. The world."

Holy mackerel. That's a lot to ask for. And an impressive fear. "You can," I say. "You can die at peace with the world. But first you have to survive a night in the Maze. You should probably pack. A knife, water, non-fragrant food—"

"No," she says, a snarl in her voice. She presses the bridge of her nose against my shoulder. "I don't want any of that. I want to Banish Gally with nothing but the clothes on his back. I don't want him to be able to survive."

I close my eyes. Her streak of dislike for him runs deeper than I originally thought. "Okay, Rose."

She pulls away from my hug. "It's Rosalyn."

"Sorry?" My voice squeaks. What is she talking about?

"My name's actually Rosalyn," she says, lowering her gaze. "You can still call me Rose, I just wanted you to know. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, when I remembered it."

"Rosalyn." Her name rolls off my tongue as though I've said it countless times. Seeing as we're siblings, I probably have. "Alright, cool."

She smiles tentatively, then drags herself to her feet, piecing together her confident façade. I admire her endless strength and stability, her courage and neverending capacity for smart comments. She's what I've always tried to be, I realize. She's like my role model or something. Ha. My little sister is my role model. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

"Your face looks like a butt," she says.

I sigh, smiling, and accept her helping hand as I get to my feet. Seeing a softer side of her was nice, I guess, but now the smart aleck her is back.

* * *

Ten minutes later, the entire group of Gladers are gathered around the North Doors. Rose stands between said Doors, all traces of her earlier breakdown completely hidden or, in the case of the dirt and her tears, washed away.

She smiles sweetly at Gally. "I'm not taking anything with me, Gally, so when I get back and it's your turn to be Banished, you don't get squat."

"You're not going to survive," Gally says arrogantly.

"He says to the Runner who knows the Maze better than she knows the back of her hand," Minho snarls.

A wind picks up, signaling the soon-to-be closing of the Doors. It blows Rose's ponytail partly over her shoulder, the curls of brown lit gold by the dying light. She looks heroic, ready. "Bye," she says. She smiles confidently and I sear this image into my mind, hiding from the panic that is trying to well up inside me. This is how I want to remember her: strong, confident, smiling.

"Thomas, I love you," she says. A twinge of sorrow flashes in her eyes. She knows that this may be the last time we see each other. Before I can stop myself I dart forward and pull her into a bone-crushing hug. "Be safe," I say into her hair.

"Don't die," she responds. I release her and step back into line with the other Gladers, feeling a little awkward.

Rose glances around at everyone, her gaze lingering for a fraction of a second on Newt, a bolt of despair flickering across her eyes, a crack in her brave exterior. But she breaks her gaze off of him, says, "See you suckers tomorrow," and jogs through the closing doors.


	11. Chapter 10

**THOMAS**

It takes all my strength not to go after her. As soon as the Doors slam closed, I can't take it. Even though no one will ever let me hear the end of it, I let my knees buckle. While Rose is great at feigning confidence, I suck at it. My knees slam into the ground so hard I nearly pitch forward and splat into the ground face-first. I catch myself with my hands. Gally lets out a cruel laugh, and I wonder if Newt would let me punching him in the face six times go over. But since he probably wouldn't, I stay put, staring at the ground while my breathing quickens. Am I going into shock or something?

"Hey, man," Chuck starts.

"Go away," I bite out harshly, breathless.

"You heard him!" Minho's voice rings out commandingly. "Everyone go get some food and sleep and if Rose shows up in the morning, we'll all be happy little shanks." A pause. "Well, go on!"

I hear people shuffling away. Minho's boots appear in my line of vision, followed by the rest of him as he drops to the ground, sitting crosslegged. "Man, are you gonna stay up all night?" His voice is kind, not incredulous.

"I have to," I hear myself say. "It's what she did."

"It's pure torture," Minho points out.

"Look," I say through gritted teeth. "You can go get some food and sleep, because I'm not going anywhere. Don't waste your breath trying to convince me otherwise.

"Don't dismiss me like that." His tone is hard. "She's one of our most valuable Runners, and damn near close to being one of my better friends. I ain't leaving."

I sit back, mimicking him and crossing my legs under me. Before I can respond to his surprisingly open statement, Newt drops to the ground next to me, his face guilt-ridden and pained. "Well said, Minho. We're stayin' up with ya, Tommy."

"I thought you hated her," Minho and I say at the same time.

"You . . ." Newt trails off. "I don't. I think that for a little while I thought I did, but now I realize how much of a buggin' idiot I am for lettin' her run off into the Maze without my support and all that. Since I screwed up, the only thing I can do is sit here and worry my shuck butt off about whether she's gonna survive or not." He drops his head into his hands. "It's not her I hate, it's myself for thinkin' I hate her."

I make a noncommittal noise. "I hope she makes it through the night."

"The feelin' is mutual," Newt says, voice muffled.

"Ditto," Minho says. "If she's gone, I've got no one to exchange sarcastic comments with."

 **ROSE**

The moment the Doors close, I spin on my heel and jog right back to them. Staying here is the most sensible thing to do. If I make it through the night, I should be right here for when they open.

I sit down, leaning against the Doors, and start waiting.

An hour passes. I start to feel confident. And then a Griever rolls around the corner, shattering whatever hopes I had. I scramble to my feet, wishing I had some sort of explosive device. I can do the dive and roll thingy, then run. Weave my way through the paths until I lose any or all Grievers on my tail, then head back here.

A second Griever rolls around the corner behind the first and my plans are dashed. With a loud curse, I turn and start climbing up the wall, digging my fingers and toes into miniscule cracks. As with when I wanted to get Thomas out of the Maze when he was stuck in over the night, I scale the wall quickly and run along the top, feeling vaguely spritelike until I throw myself across a gap and trip when I land. Almost before I've hit the stone, I'm back up and running, desperation fueling me.

I run along the tops of the walls, jumping when necessary, until I see one that I can stop at: one that rises above the other walls and has a thick curtain of ivy on it. I duck between the fronds and press my back into the stone, sighing. My elbow is bleeding, though I have no idea where I hit it, and my shoulder is starting to hurt. I probably ripped some stitches. I'm hardly surprised.

Slowly, the sky darkens. I start getting cramps from standing in one stiff position for so long. I check my watch every hour.

At around one, I'm about to shift my stance when the wall behind me ejects spikes into my back and shoulders. Needlelike spikes. A scream erupts from me and I stumble out of the ivy, almost into a Griever. It hisses and clicks and whirrs at me. I scream again, more from fear than pain, and without a second thought push myself over the edge of the wall. It's stupid, suicidal, and will keep me from being stung by the shuck thing.

Mid-fall, the front of my shoulder hits something, wrenching me around. I slam back-first into the ground, blacking out momentarily. When I wake up, the wall I was balancing on is moving towards me. I forgot that the walls in the Maze move at night. Shit.

I don't know how I make it to my feet. My blood-soaked back is making it hard to see straight, it's giving me so much agony. But I stand and make it out of there before I get smushed between the wall. I force myself into a jarring, awkward run, hissing more than breathing.

I keep blacking out from a combination of pain and exhaustion. I can't get a full breath either. I think one or two of my ribs have been pushed in. Thank you, falling-from-something-ten-stories-tall-and-landing-on-your-back. I have no idea how I didn't die, but I'm not complaining.

I black out for an especially long time on three occasions. On the third, when I wake up, there's a Griever standing over me, inspecting me.

Haven't I had enough!?

Adrenaline spikes through me, giving me energy I never would have had without it. I roll backwards, making my back scream in pain, and scramble to my feet. The North Doors shouldn't be too far from here.

I run.

Minho's Number One Rule echoes in my head, over and over. "NEVER STOP RUNNING." So, even when I'm about to pass out, I force my muscles to keep me in motion. Every bone in my body screams with pure exhaustion, but NEVER STOP RUNNING.

NEVER

STOP

RUNNING

NEVER

STOP

RUNNING

Newt's face flashes through my mind. A surge of strength passes over me and I pick up my pace until I'm nearly sprinting. I skid around the bend and nearly burst into tears with relief. There are the Doors. And they're open.

Something slams into my hurt shoulder, ripping a scream from my throat and throwing me to the ground. There's a stabbing sensation in my kidneys, then a burning that travels through my body. I claw at the ground, getting my feet under me, and scramble away from what must be the Griever. When I look back, it's rolling away from me. Was its only purpose to sting me?

Does it matter?

I notice something odd about the Doors. They're open, but where I last saw Gladers is empty. I squint, push myself forward. I'm hanging onto the wall now to keep myself on my feet. Why is that space empty? They seriously didn't give up on me?

Tears threaten to spring from my cheeks. Thomas, Minho, Newt, none of them had any faith in my survival abilities? Sure, they suck worse than crap, but I made it through the night, yeah?

Something in my mind snaps.

Hate courses through me, mixing with fury. I hate this place and I hate my brother and Minho and Newt and everyone else and I hate them and I'm so pissed that they didn't think I'd make it through the night and I hate sexism and I want to break the neck of everyone in the Glade—

Crunch.

My face slams into the ground. I'm almost at the doors, and there's someone staring at me. Someone spins and yells something.

NO.

I will NOT be helped.

I make it to my feet, the dangerous swirl of hatred and anger fueling me, pushing me forwards. I make it to the Doors. The guy who shouted for help tries to support me. I curl my fingers into a ball and punch him in the jaw so hard he goes flying backwards several feet. I laugh, enjoying this new power. A few Gladers run up to me, but I punch them all away, loving the sound of their bodies hitting the dirt.

This is what I should feel like.

"ROSE!"

I spin towards the voice, lashing out with my foot. It catches Thomas in the chest and slams him backwards. Minho and Newt, just behind him, pull up short, eyes wide.

"Rose," Minho says carefully.

I let out a feral scream and tackle him, whacking his head on the ground. Someone pins my wrists behind me. "She's been stung," Newt yells. "Someone get the Grief Serum!" He yanks me off of Minho and jams his finger into my shoulder. I scream, struggling to get away as fire rages across my back. I shriek that I hate him, that he deserves to die, that he doesn't have squat faith in me.

I wind up on my stomach, my cheek pressed into the dirt. Instead of the flames that used to lick at my veins, I'm just cold. Newt is kneeling overtop of me, literally sitting on me to keep me from moving. He's alternating between trying to calm me down and talking to the first guy I punched, asking for details. I pause in my squirming to listen.

"How long ago did ya say she was stung?" Newt is demanding.

"Ten minutes," the guy replies. "At least, if not more."

"How is she not . . ." Newt looks at me. I start trying to get him off me again. Damn everyone in this Glade.

"I got the Grief Serum," someone announces.

I fight with all my strength at this. Newt presses his hands into my back where I think my rips have popped in and suddenly I can't get a breath. "Rosie, calm down," he says, and I do, mostly because my lungs are begging for air, air I can't give them. I try to form words, but my own boyfriend is choking me, albeit unwittingly. My fingers scrabble at the dirt. Get off, Newt. Get off! I can't breathe!

"In her neck," Newt orders. Thomas crouches beside me, takes one look at me, and shouts, "Newt! Stop pressing on her back!"

He complies, pushing his palms into my shoulder instead. I suck in a huge breath, wondering how I have never appreciated the sweetness of oxygen before.

"Rose," Thomas says. "I need you to breathe, okay? Breathe deep."

Something tells me to listen to him. I keep sucking in air until the pain in my ribs makes me stop. I let it all out in a whoosh. Thomas shakes his head. "Rose, you need to breathe as deep as you can. Ignore it if it hurts. I know you can do this."

I breathe.

I fight past the pain and breathe until my lungs are full, and then I breathe in more for good measure. And more.

It happens.

I feel my ribs pop back into place, and I can breathe properly. But it also sends a wave of agony spiking through me. I start thrashing around again and Thomas stabs a needle into my neck. I don't even have time to speak before everything goes black.

 **THOMAS**

The light leaves her eyes, which are covered by her eyelids. I push Newt off her and lift her shirt, baring her back. There's a bruising around her ribs, but when I run my hand over it, they all feel even. I sigh with relief and sit back on my heels, looking up at Newt. "I think she got it."

"Where the hell did that bloody medical knowledge come from?" Newt demands. "And how the hell did ya know what was wrong with her?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Newt," I say, almost acidly. "Let's just get her to the Homestead."

* * *

I kick everyone out of the room when I bandage up my sister. I'm allowed to see her; the others aren't. It's a sibling thing.

I apply something that Jeff called "iodine" to all the stab wounds on her back, which I don't want to know how were made. I bandage them up, then delicately reapply the stitches to her shoulder wound. I don't think she was hurt anywhere else, so I tip some water into her mouth, which she automatically swallows, and put her shirt back on, then call everyone back in.

"We need ta find out how—" Newt starts, picking up Rose's hand and perching on the edge of the bedframe.

"Don't say we need to figure out how I know medical stuff," I interrupt. "I'm not in the mood."

"I was gonna say that we need to find out why she didn't react to the Griever stingin' her," Newt says, shooting me a cold look.

"Don't ask me," I say, holding up my hands defensively. "I can't remember a single shuck thing about our past lives."

"We can't really figure anything out until she wakes up," Minho points out. "We don't know why she came out of the East Doors, or why she went ballistic, or why she didn't react to the Griever stinging her, or how the heck she managed to push two of her ribs out of alignment. We won't know anything until she wakes up and gives us an explanation. Hopefully she'll be back to being a sane person by then."

"Way to be cheery, wise guy," I say. "And I don't know about you two, but I'm dead tired." I pick up the blanket I covered Newt with the night before last. "See you in dreamland." I lower myself to the floor, push the blanket over my head, and am asleep in minutes.

 **Two updates in one day! Am I cool or what? :) You wouldn't believe how fast I got these cranked out. I am seriously addicted to The Maze Runner (in case you couldn't tell). Thanks for all your reviews!**


	12. Chapter 11

**ROSE**

In the beginning, it's dark.

I'm floating in blackness, surrounded by charcoal, delving into raven. I can't tell which way I'm facing, or if I'm standing or laying down or sitting. It's just black, and that's the only thing I'm aware of.

Until suddenly there's a bright flash of light and memories flash past me.

* * *

I'm hiking through forest, following a dirt road, knowing I have to get to Fitz and Henry (whoever they are). Their truck passed this way not long ago.

Then I'm struggling across a vast expanse of white-hot sands, like the Sahara desert, but I know I'm not in Africa. I can see a sleek silver structure maybe five miles away. I draw my knife, as long as my forearm and double-sided, and pick up my pace a little.

It's nighttime, and I'm camping in a gully a hundred or so yards from the silver building. When my watch turns to 12:00 a.m. I stand up, scrambling over the edge of the gully, and walk towards the building. A guard fires something at me; I drop to the ground, avoiding the silvery blast. I roll forward and come up running. The guard is so surprised he doesn't shoot me again. I barely even hesitate before stabbing him.

Then I'm running down a white hallway, with five guards running after me. As I round the corner I slash wide with my knife, slitting two men's throats. They fall to the floor and I've added to my death toll, which is now twenty-three. I pause by a door to kick it open and glance in. No Henry, no Fitz. Cursing, I twirl out of the room and keep running, shouting their names.

Death toll at thirty. I would feel guilty if they hadn't taken my brother and my best friend.

I kick open another door, and when I lunge in for a quick glance it's full of boys. "Henry!" I scream. "Fitz!"

Henry shoots from the crowd of astonished boys just as I'm thrown to the floor, a weight piling into my back. I clench my fingers around my knife, and that's all I have time to do before my head slams into the cement floor. I hear Henry shouting for someone to stop. I spasm around, struggling to get free. Someone drops to their knees beside me, not a guard, and pries my knife from my hand. "No!" I screech. "No, that's mine!"

"Relax, it's Fitz!" he shouts in his British accent. There's an ugly sound above me. Something wet sprays the side of my face that's not pressed into the floor. The weight is dragged off my back. I scramble to my feet, tear the extremely bloody knife from Fitz's hand, and throw my arms around his neck, pressing my face into his collarbone. "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod Fitz—"

"No hug for me?" Henry demands. I release Fitz and throw myself at my brother, laughing and crying and furious all at the same time.

Then someone smashes a rock into my head and I black out.

More memories, faster now.

Strapped to a table, with someone injecting something into my arm.

Drowning.

Betrayal. My brother is behind all this.

Waking up in a metal structure.

Pushing the doors open on my own, emerging into a Glade, completely empty.

Struggling to make a living for a month.

Another girl joining me.

Several years later, running off into the Maze, with a cheery wave behind me at the girl who came up in the second month.

In the Maze, running as fast as I can away from seven Grievers.

Diving clear off the edge of the Cliff.

Waking up back where I started.

Thrown onto a table, fighting for my life.

Another injection.

"Are you sure we want her to trigger the Ending?"

"It has to be her."

"Alright . . . begin the telepathic procedure."

Blackness.

Waking up in a metal contraption.

"Hello."

* * *

I shoot upright with a shout, hunch over my knees, and grip my head in my hands. Oh God oh God oh God. Memories lance against my skull, making it hard to see or breathe. "Fitz," I mumble. Fitz is Newt; Henry is Thomas. I knew both of them before the Maze. I tried to rescue them. I was chosen to go into the Maze first, but one for girls, not this Maze. Not this Glade.

I notice I'm not on a bed and slowly lift my head, wondering what's going on. I'm in the Slammer, and there's another girl over on the floor, sleeping soundly. I shriek and scramble to my feet, backing into a corner. Oh God, I'm not in the Maze with Newt and Thomas and Minho, I'm back in the girl Maze and all of it was just a dream—

My breath starts coming in quick pants. I slide to the floor, pressing my face into my knees. No, no, no. I don't want this to happen. I want to be with Fitz—Newt, whatever the hell his name is. I can't be back in the girl Glade, it's not supposed to end like this, I'm going to go insane—

"Rose!"

My head jerks up.

The door is swung open and Newt vaults in. I stare at him, eyes wide, then bolt to my feet and throw myself at him and kiss him, gripping the front of his shirt in my hands. It's a short kiss, mostly because he notices I'm shaking and pushes me away. "Rose, I know this sounds stupid, but what's wrong?"

I take a closer look at his face. There are dark circles under his eyes, so dark they're almost black, like someone painted charcoal onto his face. He's pale, and his eyes are bloodshot. His hair looks like it's been through a tornado.

"Newt?" My voice comes out rough, but I don't care. "Newt, what's going on?" I point at the girl, who's still asleep. She's ish-pretty, with dark hair a bit longer than shoulder-length and a spray of freckles across her nose. "Who's she, and what's she doing here?"

"It's a long story," Newt says, "and I don't have much time."

"Then start talking," I say, pushing my confidence back into place with one sentence. Oh, man, it feels good just to be here, not in the Maze, not trapped in my own memories.

Newt sits down on the floor. "Sit."

I do.

"About an hour after ya went crazy and ballistic and stuff," Newt says, "the Box alarm sounded and this girl came up. She was unconscious for three days. Today, when everyone woke up, there was no sun. And the Box supplies didn't come. This girl, Teresa, woke up and said she'd triggered somethin' called 'The Ending'." He made finger quotes and his voice mockingly spooking when he said the Ending. "The Doors to the Maze haven't closed yet. We put the both of ya in here, and I guess she fell asleep." Newt glanced at the sky. "You're stayin' in here tonight—"

"Hell no," I spit. I realize I'm on my feet. "I'm sticking with you."

The girl—Teresa—speaks, her voice raspy. I didn't realize she was awake. "You didn't say there was another girl."

"There's a lotta bloody stuff we ain't tellin' ya," Newt snaps at her. "Go the shuck back to sleep."

I take his momentary distraction to climb out of the Slammer, giving the two boys standing guard a short nod. They nod back and drop their eyes. I wonder how crazy I look.

Does it matter?

Newt joins me. "I'm not even gonna argue with ya about stayin' in there tonight." He massages his temples. "Just be glad I'm not gonna throw ya in there."

I smirk. "I'd like to see you try."

Newt sighs, and I realize my snarky attitude isn't helping him. I take him by the arm and lead him towards the Homestead. "What can I do to help?"

He glances around. "Nothin', really. Now we just gotta sit out the night in the Homestead."

We head towards the rickety building, and I hope that it won't be the last time.

 **TA DA, memories! :) Thank you for your guys' reviews and likes and alerts, etc.! I hope you enjoyed it!**

 **So basically what happened, in case you couldn't figure it out, was she was the first girl into the girls' maze, and then she dove down the Griever hole and the Creators decided to make her trigger the Ending instead of Teresa. Somewhere along the way, she lost all her memories of the girls' maze, but she was a Runner, which was why running with Minho for the first time felt so natural to her. :)**


	13. Chapter 12

**ROSE**

"Closest I've come so far," says Newt, "to hangin' it all up. Shuck it all and kiss a Griever good night. Supplies cut, bloody gray skies, walls not closin'. But we can't give up, and we all know it. The buggers who sent us here either want us dead or they're givin' us a spur. This or that, we gotta work out arses off till we're dead or not dead."

We're all in an upstairs room, him and Alby sitting on the sole bed in the room, Thomas and Minho in chairs beside it. I'm sitting at Newt's feet, which are on the floor, leaning against his legs. My head is still reeling from everything that's going on and what I've discovered. I'm barely even paying attention to what's going on around me, and the only reason I am at all is because Newt's talking.

"Alby?" Newt prompts. "You gonna pitch in?"

"Huh?" Alby says. "Oh. Yeah. Good that. But you've seen what happens at night. Just because Greenie the freaking superboy made it doesn't mean the rest of us can."

"Um, hello?" I say, pushing my head over the frame of the bed to glare at him. Changing or no, Alby's a twit. "What about me?"

"You didn't survive," he scoffs.

"Oh, so now I'm a ghost?" I challenge.

"Guys, stop," Thomas pleads.

Because he's my brother, I let it go.

"I'm with Thomas and Newt and Rose," Minho says. "We gotta quit boohooing and feeling sorry for ourselves. Tomorrow morning, first thing, you guys can assign teams to study the Maps full-time while the Runners go out. We'll pack out stuff shuck-full so we can stay out there for a couple of days."

"What?" Alby says. "What do you mean, a few days?"

I hide a frown. I'm sorry, Minho, but I'm not too anxious to go back out into the Maze. I barely survived.

"I mean, days," Minho says snidely. "With open Doors and no sunset, there's no point in coming back here anyway. Time to stay out there and see if anything opens up when the walls move. If they still move."

"No way," Alby says. "We have the Homestead to hide in—and if that ain't working, the Map Rom ad the Slammer."

"Not to side with Alby," I say, "when I'm on your guys's side, but what if the Doors aren't closing just tonight? Like, what if everything goes back to normal and then you guys are locked out in the Maze?" I close my eyes, knowing I sound childish but unable to stop the words from pouring out. "What if the Doors close and stay closed forever?"

Newt strokes my hair. "It's an occupational hazard, Rosie."

"Exactly, Rose!" Alby says, catching on to my idea. "We can't ask people to go out there and freaking die, Minho! Who would do that?"

"Me," Minho says. "Thomas. Maybe Rose."

I nod, despite my outburst. If I had to I'd go out there. It's my duty, my way of helping the Glade.

"I will if I have to," Newt says. "And I'm sure all the Runners'll do it too."

"With your bum leg?" Alby laughs harshly. I nearly punch him in the face. How dare he!

"Well, I don't feel good askin' Gladers to do somethin' if I'm not bloody willin' to do it myself," Newt says, his voice quiet. I lean my head against his knee, still quietly fuming over Alby's insensitivity. That stupid shuck.

"Whatever," Alby says. "Do what you want."

Newt stands up, glaring at him. "Do what I want? What's wrong with you, man? Are you tellin' me we have a freakin' choice? Should we just wait around on our butts to be snuffed out by the Grievers?"

Thank you, Newt. Bludgeon some sense into his brain, God dammit.

"Better than runnin' to them," Alby grumbles.

Newt sits down slowly. "Alby, you gotta start talkin' reason."

Alby sighs and is silent for a few moments. Then he says, "You guys know I'm all screwed up. Seriously, I'm . . . sorry. I shouldn't be the stupid leader anymore."

"Oh, bloody—" Newt starts.

"No!" Alby shouts. "That's not what I meant. Listen to me, I ain't saying we should switch or nothing. I'm just saying . . . I think I need to let you guys make the decisions. I don't trust myself. So . . . yeah, I'll do whatever."

Silence.

"Uh . . . okay," Newt says gradually, as though he's unsure (which he probably is). "We'll make it work, I promise. You'll see."

"Yeah," Alby mutters. After a few moments he says, "Hey, tell you what. Put me in charge of the Maps. I'll freaking work every Glader to the bone studying those things."

"Works for me," Minho says.

"Ya know," Alby says. "It was really stupid putting us in here tonight. We should be out there looking at the Maps, seeing if we can find anything of note."

Ah, finally, I think. Something smart coming out of someone's mouth.

"Probably right," Minho says, a shrug in his voice.

"Well . . . I'll go," Alby says confidently. "Right now."

"Forget that, Alby," Newt says. "Already heard the bloody Grievers out there. We can wait till the wake-up."

"Hey, you shucks are the ones giving me the pep talks," Alby says. "Don't start whining when I actually listen. If I'm gonna do this, I gotta do it, be the old me. I need something to dive into." He stands up. "Seriously, I need this."

"You can't be serious," Newt protests. "You can't go out there now!"

Yes, he can, I sing-song silently. It's his decision.

"I'm going, and that's that." Alby takes a ring of keys from his pockets and rattles them mockingly. "See you shucks in the morning."

He walks out of the room.

Newt groans. "Why did we give him those pep talks?"

 **THOMAS**

It's strange, how I know it's nighttime but it's not actually getting any darker, just staying that uniform, creepy gray. It's making me feel off-kilter, like the urge to sleep is unusual, going to sleep in the middle of the day.

I try to make myself sleep, but after two hours of trying I know it's useless. So I lay there thinking. About Chuck, who's ended up in another room. Poor kid. About Teresa, who can talk into my head. About Rose, who's huddled next to Newt on the bed, staring at the wall in a zombielike fashion. Whatever memories she's gotten back, whatever happened out in the Maze, they're haunting her, slowly ripping her to pieces. I wonder if I'll ever get to see that shield of confidence, bravado, ever again.

Sleep finally comes, but in miserable fits. An hour passes, and then another. It's around two in the morning when everything changes.

A mechanized surge of machinery sounds from outside, followed by the eerily familiar rolling clicks of a Griever on stone, as if someone's scattered a handful of nails. I shoot to my feet, as do most of the other Gladers. Rose doesn't. She really must be feeling out of it.

Newt's up before anyone, waving his arms and shushing the room by putting a finger to his lips. He tiptoes to the one window in the room, hastily covered by three nailed-on boards. He peers through one of the cracks left by the boards, and I duck down beneath him, looking out one of the lower cracks.

Nothing.

After a few moments, I turn and sit with my back against the wall. Newt goes back to the bed and sits down next to Rose, who puts her head on his shoulder.

Griever noises sound, a bit far away but then coming closer, penetrating the silence every ten to twenty seconds. My mouth dries up. I have to remind myself to breathe.

The sounds become hollower, as though the Griever's climbing up the side of the house, rolling up towards our room, defying gravity. It is; the sounds get louder, the building shudders. Wood crunches and groans. I can imagine the Griever's spikes tearing into the siding, defacing it.

Most of the other boys have scooted to the other side of the room, and I follow suit, gesturing for Newt and Rose to do the same. He has to pick Rose up—she won't move. What happened to all her fire?

Lights flicker outside the window. It's probing, looking for a feast. I grip the knife in my hand. It won't get one.

I hope.

The tension in the air is thick, so thick I can almost taste it. I can't hear anyone breathing. I wish Teresa would say something, anything to me.

The door busts open, the door from the hallway. Gasps and shouts slice through the silence; we've been expecting an attack from the window, not the door. I find myself on my feet, staring at the doorway, shock filtering through me.

Gally's standing in the doorway.

Gally, who we Banished after Teresa came up in the Box.

What the hell is he doing in here!?

"They'll kill you," he screams, spittle flying from his mouth. "The Grievers'll kill you all—one a night until it's over!"

He charges through the room and stops in front of me, Newt, and Rose. He points at me, sneering so pronouncedly that it goes past comical to flat-out disturbing. "You," he says. "It's all your fault!" He swings a punch at me, sending me slamming to the floor.

Newt jolts out of his stupor and takes action, plowing Gally into the desk. Gally straightens. "It can't be solved," he says. "The shuck Maze'll kill all you shanks . . . the Grievers'll kill you . . . one every night until it's over . . . it's better this way . . . They'll only kill you one a night . . . their stupid Variables . . ."

Newt takes a step forward. "Gally, shut your bloody hole—there's a Griever right outside the window. Just sit on your butt and be quiet. Maybe it'll go away."

"You don't get it, Newt," Gally snarls, eyes narrowing. "You're too stupid—you've always been too stupid."

"Hey," Rose growls.

"There's no way out," Gally goes on, ignoring her. "There's no way to win. They're gonna kill you, all of you—one by one!" He screams the last word and lunges at the window, tearing away a board. Rose springs at him. "Gally—!"

He whirls, the board slamming into her head. She tips backward. Blood's already tricking down her face, her eyes rolling back in her head. Newt catches her, lays her on the floor. "Gally, listen. You don't—"

"SHUT UP!" Gally screams. Newt ducks the first swing of his board, but the backlash knocks him onto the bed with a small spray of blood.

I stay out of range of the board. "Gally, what're you doing?"

"Shut your shuck face, Thomas," Gally spits at me. "You shut up! I know who you are, but I don't care anymore. I can only do what's right." As he speaks, he tears the final board from the window. All the boys run from the room, panicking.

"No one ever understood!" Gally yells. "No one ever understood what I saw, what the Changing did to me! Don't go back into the real world, Thomas! You don't want to remember!"

Eyes full of terror, he races past me into a corner and huddles there. The window explodes; Rose darts to her feet and pushes me away from the flying glass. The sudden movement can't be good for her. She looks pale and dizzy.

Her face changes. She looks enraged, furious. The Griever is reaching into the window for Newt's limp form. Rose charges at it and kicks it's face, then scoops Newt's knife out from under him and starts hacking at the Griever's disgusting legs. "ASSHOLE!" She bellows. "SHUCKING ASSHOLE! GO BACK TO YOUR SHUCKING GRIEVER PIT! DIE! DIE! DIEEEEE!"

Holy . . .

My sister is insane.

 **NEWT**

I wake up to Griever slime all over me, blood in my eyes, a shucking metaphorical spike being driven through my skull, and Rose chopping the Griever above me into bits.

As I watch, she rolls under it and forces her—my—knife into the soft part of its underbelly, then somehow throws it into the wall. She's screaming things at it, obscenities and curses of all different kinds. "I HATE YOU!" She grabs another knife from the pile stacked haphazardly in the corner and stabs it repeatedly. "I HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE YOU!"

The Griever goes still. For good measure, she chops off its head. Then she turns around, her face blotchy with rage, Griever juice, and scratches. She's breathing hard. Before I can even begin to say something, Thomas screams out the window, "MINHO, STOP!" He watches for a moment, then whizzes out of the room.

"Uh, Rose?" I croak, sitting up. "What was that?" I get to my feet and wipe at my eyes, brushing the blood out of them.

"I don't know," she says breathlessly. "It just happened. But hell, I killed a Griever." She ducks under the bed and pulls a crate from beneath it, taking out a white towel. She pours some water from my flask on it, then sponges off my forehead and presses it against my wound. "Go after Thomas. I'll catch up."

"Okay," I say slowly. "Be careful, though—we don't know if the Greiver's truly dead."

She raises an eyebrow at me, but says nothing.

I go to stop Thomas.

 **ROSE**

The second Newt leaves I collapse onto the bed, my strength gone. I wait for tears to come. I know I've killed a Griever before. I remember it, from the other Maze. I've also killed at least thirty-two people. How am I going to live with this guilt?

I take a few towels and wipe myself off, then go to find Newt. I can't give up. I have to keep going. I shove aside my scarring, horrific memories, pushing them to the back of my mind. I can go over them later. Right now I need to be a helpful human being.

When I find Newt, he's pointing at the Map Room. "Yeah. You can still see the buggin' smoke."

The door to the Map Room is open, with licks of smoke curling out of it, the edges of the door blackened. I stumble into Newt accidentally, catching myself by wrapping an arm around his waist. All the Maps. Gone. Burned.

Up, Rose. Put up your shields. No one can see you like this. No one can see your weakness.

I force myself to stand up straighter. "Well, are we going to investigate or what?"

"I'll . . . be right back," Thomas says, and walks away.

The next few minutes are a blur. I follow Newt around and do whatever he tells me to, and I end up on the ground, a wet rag in my hand, cleaning blood from a gash out of Alby's eyes while Newt asks him questions in a low voice.

After a few minutes, Minho's voice rings out through the crowd gathered around us. "Newt!"

"Yeah?" he stands up. I refold the bloody rag and continue wiping at Alby's forehead. I don't like him, but I don't want him to die, either.

I'm too exhausted to listen to what's going on, but someone prods me to my feet and then we're walking towards the Slammer, trailing after Thomas. I lean heavily on Newt, and he leans heavily on me, both of us supporting the other. My brother stops at the Slammer, turns to us, and says, "Let her out. Let her out, and then we'll talk. Trust me—you'll want to hear it."

I glance up at Newt. His face is covered in sweat, dirt, and soot, and his hair is matted with blood. He's not in a good mood. At all. "Tommy," he starts, voice hard, "this it—"

"Please," Thomas says. "Just open it—let her out. Please."

Minho puts his hands on his hips. "How can we trust her? Soon as she woke up, the whole place fell to pieces. She even admitted she triggered something."

Hmm, this is interesting news.

"He's got a point," Newt says.

At this point I stop listening, because I can tell it's going to be a long conversation that runs in circles. At last I step up and say, "What's she gonna do, run around and stab every Glader to death? Just let her out." I want to meet her. "You didn't treat me with this much disrespect and mistrust, Newt, and I kicked you in the face."

"That didn't permanently mess up my life," Newt says.

"Fine," Minho snaps. "Just let the stupid girl out."

"I'm not stupid," Teresa shouts, her voice muffled by the stone separating us. "And I can hear every word you morons are saying!"

"Real sweet girl you picked up, Tommy," Newt says, eyes wide. I grin. I think me and her are going to be friends, if we both live long enough to get to know each other.

He lets Teresa out of the Slammer. She gives him a filthy look, and also one to Minho. She nods at me. "Nice, the whole kicking-in-the-face thing." And then she goes to stand next to Thomas.

"Alright," Minho says. "What's so important?"

Thomas looks helplessly at Teresa. She gives him a skeptical look. "What? You talk—they obviously think I'm a serial killer."

"Oh, yes, you look so dangerous," I mutter.

"Okay," Thomas says, shooting me a look that says SHUT UP. "When Teresa was first coming out of her coma thingy, she had memories flashing through her mind. She, um . . . she told me later that she remembers that the Maze is a code. That maybe instead of solving it to find a way out, it's trying to send us a message."

"A code?" Minho says. "How's it a code?"

Thomas shakes his head. "I don't know for sure—you're way more familiar with the Maps than I am. But I have a theory: that's why I was hoping you guys could remember some of them."

Minho glances at Newt, eyebrows raised. Newt gives a short nod.

"What?" Thomas sounds fed up. "You guys keep acting like you have a secret." He shoots me a glare.

"Oh, yes," I say sarcastically. "I'm totally in on whatever plan they have. Me, who's been asleep for the past three or four or however long I've been out days. Yep, I'm totally away of what secret they have." I glare right back at Thomas. "Pin the blame on someone who you think is just gonna back down, huh? I see how it is."

Newt lays a calming hand on my shoulder.

"Shut it," Thomas snaps. "I wasn't accusing you or anybody."

"Then why'd you glare at me?" I shoot back.

"It was directed at Newt," Thomas says.

"Because that justifies it," I say. "Oh, hell yes."

"STOP," Minho says loudly. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. "Thomas, we hid the Maps."

My brother gets this completely stupid, dumbfounded look on his face. "Huh?"

I bite my lip to keep from saying anything.

Minho points to the Homestead. "We hid the freaking Maps in the weapons room, put dummies in their place. Because of Alby's warning. And because of the so-called Ending your girlfriend triggered. They're all safe and sound. Every last one of those suckers. So if you have a theory, get talking."

"Take me to them," Thomas says.

"Okay, let's go." Minho turns around. I nearly groan and collapse right there. More walking?

But I shove that aside and follow him, lacing my fingers through Newt's.

 **So I saw the Scorch Trials, and I LOVED IT and if you haven't seen it yet, you should, because it's amazing. I'm not going to say anything other than that about it, though. I'm not the kind of person who purposely spoils things for people. So, this is what happene -**

 **Just kidding :) I hope you liked it! Thanks for all your reviews and likes and stuff!**


	14. Chapter 13

**ROSE**

Minho leads us towards the Homestead, and on my right is Newt, my left, Teresa. In contrast to me, she looks bright, clean, and alert, with a spark of fire in her eyes. All I can think about is how badly I need a nap, but she appears ready to tackle the Map code thing. She actually looks excited, or as excited as you can be when in a Glade full of boys who don't have a hair of trust in you.

Man, I need a nap.

She probably slept right through the whole Griever episode, being in a safe-and-sound location.

"I'm Teresa," she says, holding her hand out across her stomach for me to shake as we walk. It takes me a moment to process what she's saying, and then another moment to process that I should shake her hand: that's how tired I am.

Ha. Like I didn't already know her name.

"Rose," I say, shaking her hand with all the strength I can muster at the moment. I realize I've never told Newt my full name and have a sudden urge to lay on the grass and look up at the sky and talk with him.

Teresa observes me for a moment—shadowed eyes, stumbling walk, slouching shoulders, hand loose in Newt's—and says, "You don't look so good."

Now, if Minho had told me this, I would be pummeling his face off with insults. But seeing as Teresa's also a girl, and she looks vaguely like she's trying to help, I don't say anything too hostile. "Well," I say, smiling to let her know I'm not trying to snap at her, "how about you try staying up all night and killing a Griever, after being unconscious for three or four days with several major cuts and broken ribs, and then see how you look."

Teresa's shockingly blue eyes widen and her mouth opens a little. "What did you do to get that?"

"Do you really want to know?" I say, snorting out a half laugh.

"Kinda," she says.

And so I wind up explaining about Gally and Banishment and stuff. Halfway through I stop and look up at Newt, who's glancing around the Glade like he's a mother dog checking on her puppies. "Newt," I say, "did you guys actually Banish Gally?"

"Definitely," Newt says instantly, looking down at me. He frowns. "Are you okay?"

Beat.

Everything's starting to slow down around me, like I'm wading through water.

"Sure," I say. "I'd love some pie."

Teresa looks at me like I have antennae.

"That's not what he asked?" My brain struggles to catch up and translate what Newt said.

Newt says something that I think is a curse, and while he's scooping me up, into his arms, I repeat it, over and over again. It sounds nice. I fiddle with the hair at the nape of his neck, draping my arm over his shoulder. "Newt, you have nice ears."

"Thanks, Rosie," Newt says tiredly.

I snuggle against him and fall asleep before I can compliment him on something else.

* * *

I wake up and hear Newt say, "Tommy, I may not be the sharpest guy in the Glade, but it sounds like you're talkin' straight out your butt to me."

"How nice, Newt," I say drowsily.

"Okay, okay," Thomas says. "You've always had one Runner assigned to one section, right?"

What's he talking about?

I sit up a little bit straighter and open my eyes. We're gathered around a bunch of Maps scattered on the floor in a pitlike place that I recognize as the weapons room. All of us are sitting, and I'm on Newt's lap.

"Right," Minho says, sounding knowledgeable.

"And that Runner makes a Map every day, and then compares it to Maps from previous days, _from that section,_ " Thomas says. "What if, instead, you were supposed to compare the eight sections _to each other_ , every day? Each day being a separate clue or code? Did you ever compare sections to other sections?"

Minho rubs his chin, nodding. "Yeah, kinda. We tried to see if they made something when put together—of course we did that. We've tried everything."

Thomas shifts, stares at the map. Then he looks up. "Wax paper."

"Huh?" Minho says. "What the—"

"Just trust me," Thomas says. "We need wax paper and scissors. And every black marker and pencil you can find."

Newt slides me off his lap. "Stay here, Rosie." For once I don't argue. I watch as he and the others climb out of the weapons room; then I go to sleep.

Minho wakes me up some time later by saying, quite loudly, "What is this, kiddie craft time? Why don't you just tell us what the klunk we're doing this for?"

I sit up and rub at my eyes. Around me are rolls of wax paper, a dozen pencils and markers, and several stacks of Maps. They're all sitting around the table in the middle of the room, and Minho is holding a knife like it's a piece of crap, not a blade that can cause serious pain and damage.

"I'm done explaining," Thomas says. "It'll be easier just to show you." He stands up and goes to rummage around in some closet thing to my right. "If I'm wrong, then I'm wrong, and we can go running around in the Maze like mice again."

Minho sighs and mutters something under his breath, clearly irritated.

 _Just . . . come . . . help . . . me._

I jump about a foot in the air and stare at my brother. His forehead is creased in concentration and it's obvious he hasn't said anything.

So why did I just hear his voice in my head?

On impulse, I visualize several thoughts in my head and send them at him as best I can. _Can you talk to me in your head?_

Teresa shoots me an odd look; I probably have the strangest expression on my face. I stop trying to talk to Thomas in my head. It was probably just lack of sleep making me hallucinate or whatever it is when you hear voices in your head.

"Teresa," Thomas says, "can you come help me for a second?"

She stands up and they go into the closet; a few moments later, they return with stacks of Maps in their hands. I stagger to Newt and flop into the chair beside him, resting my chin on the table. He absentmindedly starts playing with a piece of my hair, wrapping it around his finger, then letting it spring free, then wrapping it around his finger again. I lean into his hand, grateful for . . . just him in general. If he weren't here, I'd be incredibly lost.

"All right," Thomas says. "Everyone trace the last ten or so days onto a piece of wax paper. Make sure you write the info on top so we can keep track of what's what. When we're done, I think we might see something."

"What—" Minho starts.

"Just bloody keep cutting," Newt orders. "I think I know where Tommy's goin' with this."

I reluctantly reach for a marker, but Newt pins my wrist to the table. "Sleep."

I roll my eyes but obey—after all, I kept ordering him to sleep these past few weeks, so he's just returning the favor. I force myself to sleep, just like that, Thomas's voice echoing in my ears: _Just come help me._

About an hour and a half later, I wake up feeling mostly refreshed and grab a Map and sheet of wax paper and a marker. I start tracing. Not ten minutes have gone by and Newt announces, "I've had enough. My fingers are bloody burning like a mother. See if it's working."

I glance at my measly stack of wax paper, then at his three-and-a-half inch pile. Yeah, I can see how he's had enough. I wave my three or four sheets. "I've done some too . . ."

Thomas puts his marker down and flexes his fingers. "Okay, give me the last few days of each section—make piles along the table, in order from Section One to Section Eight. One here to Eight here." He points at the ends of the table.

We do so.

He picks up the top sheet from each day and lays them one on top of the other so that each drawing of the Maze matches the same day above it and below it, until he's looking at all eight sections of the Maze, all at once.

I see it instantly.

Among the lines and checkerboarding of the Maze, is a subtle _F_.

Silence.

" _Man_ ," Minho says, summing up what everyone's probably thinking.

"Could be a coincidence," Teresa points out. "Do more, quick."

Thomas does, putting a single day's worth of eight sections on the table, stacking them neatly based on the drawing in the middle.

Each time he does this, a letter, subtle yet obvious at the same time, forms in the middle of the crisscrossed lines. After the _F_ comes an _L_ , then an _O_ , then an _A_ , and a _T_. Then _C . . . A . . . T_.

"Look," I say, pointing down the stacks of letters, confused but happy at the same time. "It spells _FLOAT_ and then it spells _CAT_."

"Float cat?" Newt says skeptically. "Doesn't sound like a bloody rescue code to me."

"We just need to keep working," Thomas says.

After another couple of combinations, it turns out that _CAT_ is actually _CATCH. FLOAT_ and _CATCH_.

"Definitely not a coincidence," Minho says.

"Definitely not," I agree.

Teresa gestures towards the storage closet. "We need to go through all of them—all those boxes in there."

"Yeah," Thomas says. "Let's get on it."

"We can't help," Minho says.

Everyone looks at him. Incredulity courses through me. I already know what he's going to say and I just desperately hope I don't have to go with them.

"At least not Thomas and me," Minho says. "We need to get the Runners out in the Maze."

 _Not me not me not me—_

"What?" Thomas says. "This is way more important!"

"Maybe," Minho says calmly, "but we can't miss a day out there. Not now."

"Why, Minho?" Thomas challenges. "You said the pattern's basically been repeating itself for months—one more day won't mean a thing."

Minho slams his hand against the table. "That's bullcrap, Thomas! Of all days, this might be the most important to get out there. Something might've changed, something might've opened up. In fact, with the freaking Doors not closing, I think we should try your idea—stay out there overnight and do some deeper exploring."

Thomas looks conflicted. "But what about this code? What about—"

"Tommy," Newt says, voice consoling, playing with my hair again, "Minho's right. You shanks go out and get Runnin'. I'll round up some Gladers we can trust and get workin' on this." He sounds more like a leader than ever; I just hope I'm not trailing after Thomas and Minho when they go out.

"Me too," Teresa says. "I'll stay and help Newt."

 _WHAT AM I DOING!?_ I scream mentally, keeping my face blank. _WHAT AM I GOING TO BE DOING?!_

"You sure?" Thomas says skeptically to Teresa.

She crosses her arms and smiles. "If you're going to decipher a hidden code from a complex set of different mazes, I'm pretty sure you need a girl's brain running the show."

Different mazes.

I close my eyes for a moment. I have to tell Newt about it, about the second maze, about what I saw, about how we and Thomas all knew each other before. His name was Fitz, and Thomas's name was Henry, and for some reason my name stayed the same—

"If you say so," Thomas says.

I open my eyes.

Stay or go?

"Good that." Minho turns to go. "Everything's fine and dandy. Come on." He pauses and turns to me. "Rose, do you . . ."

"Are you crazy?" Newt says. "With her physical health, or lack thereof? No, she's staying in here." He glances at Thomas, who hasn't moved and appears to be staring Teresa down, or at least trying. "Don't worry, Tommy, your girlfriend will be fine."

"Oh, of all the things you could say to me," Thomas scoffs, with a pointed glance at Newt's hand, which is still idly toying with my hair. "That's a load of—"

"Come on," Minho interrupts loudly. They turn and head up the stairs.

"I'll go gather some Gladers," Newt says. "You guys'll be good here?"

"Yeah," Teresa says.

"Yup," I say.

Newt kisses the top of my head and leaves the room. Teresa sits down, picking up her marker again. She casts a glance at the stairs.

 _Can you hear me?_

I jump out of my chair and take a few hurried steps back. I just heard her speak, but she didn't move her lips.

Is she speaking in my mind?

Was Thomas speaking in my mind?

 _So you can hear me,_ Teresa says.

I nod.

 _Try to speak to me. I heard you say "Can you hear me" earlier—I think you'll be able to do it._

I take a deep breath and push the words at her. _Are we seriously telepathically speaking?_

Her face lights up. _Good job! And yes, we are. Here, let's get started on the maps._

 _Can anyone else do this?_ I ask, sitting back down and getting started on the maps.

 _I'm sure Thomas can, but he hasn't gotten the hang of it yet._ She starts tracing.

 _Huh._ I lift my marker for a moment, eyeing the line I've drawn, and put it back down. _It's pretty easy for me, actually._

Teresa looks up. _Does it give you a headache?_

I shake my head. I feel fine. _Do you think Newt could be receptive to it?_

She considers, then speaks, with her voice. "When I came up, I felt familiar with Thomas. Like I knew him. I still feel that way. When I triggered the Ending, I came to him. I think it's something that only we can do." She frowns. "But then . . . why would you be able to do it, too?"

"Gimme a sec," I say. I cap my marker and sit back in my chair, releasing the dam I put on my memories. They flow over me, but they hurt, so it's closer to lava than water.

 _Are you sure we want her to trigger the Ending?_

 _It has to be her._

 _Alright . . . begin the telepathic procedure._

I sit upright and open my eyes. Teresa is staring at me with a sort of burning intensity. I swallow. "Teresa . . . I was supposed to trigger the Ending. They gave me the telepathy thing that you and Thomas have." I pause. "What did you do when you came up?"

"I was unconscious for three days," Teresa says.

"I think . . ." I bite my lip. "What if I was supposed to trigger this . . . Ending . . . but was immune to the coma-serum-thing? I have the telepathy powers that you and Thomas do—it makes sense. What if I was supposed to trigger the Ending, but when I didn't, they sent you up?"

Teresa is nodding. "It makes sense."

I feel like I should be excited that we figured something else out, but I'm not. I'm not excited in the slightest. All I want to do is get out of this Maze.

I will not give up.

I feel my shoulders straighten, feel myself sit up straighter. A wave of energy dumps itself into. I'm going to get out. We're going to get out.

"We're going to find a way out of this place," I say, and am surprised by the steel in my tone. I stand up. "I should be out in the Maze, running my butt off."

"It's too late," Teresa says. "If you went out now, you wouldn't make it back by dark . . . or when the Grievers come back."

I flop back into the chair and pick up my marker. "Why are we even wasting time in talking? We need to keep doing this."

 _Quite right,_ Teresa says in my head. _If I talk to Thomas, do you want me to tell him that you can talk telepathically too?_

 _Nope,_ I say. _I'd rather this stayed between the two of us._

A few minutes later, Newt comes down with a bunch of Gladers, to whom Teresa starts explaining. My stack of maps has risen above Newt's, mine reaching a good four inches. He whistles. "You've been busy."

 _Haven't I, though,_ I think, keeping the words inside my head. I look up at him and smile. "Well, sit down. We've got a lot to do."

"Yeah," he says quietly. He glances at Teresa, then holds out his hand. "Can you come with me for a minute or two?"

I take his hand and rise from my seat. We walk out of the Homestead and towards the gardens. There, Newt takes a seat on the edge of one of the planters and leans his elbows on his knees. I sit across from him on the ground, my face near his knees. "Yeah?"

"Look," he says, his voice gentle, "I know that your memories probably suck, judging of how you were last night—that is, abnormally quiet—but I need to know . . . is there anything you remember that would bloody help us get out of here?"

Oh.

Oh, yeah.

"Well," I say tentatively, "not to get us out of here, no . . ." I tell him about how Teresa and I think I was supposed to trigger the Ending, but for some reason woke up in the Box. I want to tell him about how I came from the girl Maze, but the time doesn't seem . . . right.

When I finish, Newt slips off the planter and kneels in front of me. "I . . . I'm sorry about how I treated you when you went into the Maze."

"Newt," I say, placing a hand on his chest. "We're over that, okay? We're good."

He shakes his head. "I was stupid. I still am stupid. I swear I'll never act that way, never again. Okay?"

"I know you won't," I say.

He draws me into a hug, and we stay like that for a long time.

 **Woo hoo! Another chapter :) Hope you guys liked it. Did you see the telepathy coming or not really? Please let me know what you thought!**


	15. Chapter 14

**ROSE**

Thomas and Minho don't get back until midmorning of the next day, and when someone bangs on the door to the weapons room, shouting that they're back, I spring from my seat and tear up the stairs. I've been focusing on the Maps for the past day (aside from when I caught up on sleep, at Newt's insistence), but a little part of my mind has been screaming in anxiety for my brother.

Newt and I run up to them. They both look exhausted, but hope still blooms in my chest. They could have found something.

"You're the first to come back," Newt says. "What happened? Tell me you've got good news."

"Nothing," Minho says. His eyes are dead. "The Maze is a big freaking joke."

"What's he talking about?" I say to Thomas.

He shrugs. "He's just discouraged. We didn't find anything different. The walls haven't moved, no exits, nothing. Did the Grievers come last night?"

Newt says, "Yeah. They took Adam." I feel a pang of guilt. I didn't know him and I wasn't even awake when he was taken.

Thomas looks heartily discouraged, and just as guilty as I feel.

"So—" Newt starts.

"I'm sick of this!" Minho shouts suddenly, startling everyone. "I'm sick of it! It's over! It's all over!" He throws his backpack on the ground. "There's no exit, never will be. We're all _shucked_!"

He shoulders past me, making me stumble with the force of his shoulder hitting mine, and storms towards the Homestead. I should be angry at him, but all I can feel is worry. If Minho's giving up, we're all in trouble.

Newt doesn't say anything, just heads for the Homestead, probably to do some more map stuff. I glance at Thomas. He looks beyond dejected. I dart over and give him a quick hug. "I'm glad you're okay, bro."

He returns the hug and says slowly, "Me . . . me too."

I release him and follow Newt. On impulse, I project into his head. _It's gonna be okay._

I vanish into the Homestead before he can even being to be surprised. Why did I do that? Rose, you're an idiot.

When we get back, Teresa is shooing people out of the weapons room. She allows us to come in, then closes the door and leans against it. "Well, the patterns have started repeating themselves, so how about we give up?"

"Good idea," Newt says. He studies her face. "We should all get some sleep, or at least try to. Keep our energy up."

"Oh, I was hoping you'd say that," Teresa mumbles, placing a piece of paper on the table. "I'm exhausted." She drops to the floor and curls up in the corner. Within minutes she's asleep. I slide to the floor, grateful for the need of something to do. After a few seconds Newt joins me, tucking my head against his chest. His voice is muzzy when he whispers, "Go to sleep, Rosie."

His breathing steadies, deepens. A few minutes later, I've joined him in sleep.

* * *

I don't know what I dream about, but it's bad.

Newt shakes me awake and I'm on him instantly, slamming his head against the floor and straddling his stomach. My knife slashes against his cheekbone and then presses into his throat. If he speaks, it'll cause him serious harm.

"Rose!"

Someone drags me off him, pins my arms behind my back. Judging by their strength, it's Thomas or Minho. I realize what I've done and a shocked gasp escapes me. Shit.

"It's me," I rasp, and the arms pinning mine behind me loosen. I slip free and shoot to Newt's side, help him sit up. A gazillion apologies flow from my mouth, and at last he holds his finger to my lips, chocolaty brown eyes serious. "It's fine, Rosie," he says.

I wipe his cheek with my thumb, smearing blood. His throat is bleeding, just a little bit. I press my knife into his hands. "Don't trust me with this."

"Rose, that's unreasonable," he says.

"I don't feel safe with it," I insist, helping him to his feet even though he doesn't need me to. He raises an eyebrow at Thomas. "As I was sayin', I'll kiss your bloody feet if ya can figure it out."

Teresa hands Thomas the same piece of paper she'd put on the table. "No doubt this is right. Just don't have a clue what it means."

"Float, catch, bleed, death, stiff, push," Thomas reads aloud. He looks at Teresa. "That's all? Are you sure they're in the right order?"

She takes the paper back from him. "The Maze has been repeating those words for months—we finally quit when that became clear. Each time, after the word _PUSH_ , it goes a full week without showing any letter at all, and then it starts over again with _FLOAT_. So we figured that's the first word, and that's the order."

Thomas folds his arms, leaning against the shelf.

"Cheerful, don't you think?" I say sarcastically.

"Yeah," Thomas says. "We need to get Minho down here—maybe he knows something we don't. If we just had more clues—" He stops and all the blood drains from his face, leaving him whiter than the paper those creepy words are written on.

"Thomas?" I say, taking a step towards him. "What's wrong with you? Your face just went white as a ghost."

Thomas shakes his head. "Oh . . . nothing, sorry. My eyes are hurting—I think I need some sleep." He rubs his temples, but I know he's lying. It's a brother-sister thing. I narrow my eyes at him and say to him, _What's actually wrong, Thomas?_

If he's surprised, he hides it extremely well. _I need some sleep, that's all._

 _Oh, sure,_ I say.

"Well," Newt says, "ya did spend all bloody night out in the shuckin' Maze. Go take a nap."

Thomas looks from him to me to Teresa, then nods and stumbles from the room.

"Well," I say once he's gone, "he's a crappy liar."

Newt looks at me strangely. "What?"

Oh, whoops. I thought they could see it too. I grin. "Just messing with you. Come on, let's get that cut cleaned up."

Before he can say anything, I bound up the stairs and retrieve a cloth and water from the kitchen. Newt meets me halfway up the stairs, frowning confusedly. "Rosie, what's wrong with your brother?"

"How should I know?" I say. "It's not like we have some sort of telepathic link." Aw, crap. Did not mean to let that slip out. I hold up the water-soaked rag. "Got some cleaning supplies."

"You're acting very strange," Newt says.

I shoot him a creepy face. "I am?"

He sighs and allows me to sponge up his cut.

* * *

Nighttime comes.

It's much more worrying for me tonight than it was last night, when Adam was taken, because I know I'm not going to be able to sleep. Several things are combining against it: Thomas's strange behavior, my having caught up on sleep last night and earlier today, and the fact that we're on the ground floor of the Homestead tonight. There's something about the ground floor that makes me feel unsafe.

We're on the ground floor because Newt and Alby (who is recovering from his cut nicely) insisted on a plan for everyone to rotate where they sleep—or tried to sleep—each night. The Builders have boarded up the gaping holes left in the walls of the Homestead by the Grievers who took Gally and Adam. The result looks like a bunch of drunken zombies fixed it up, but it's solid enough.

Thomas and Newt are both in the same room I am, which I'm eternally grateful for. I sit next to Newt and hope I can sit the night out without going absolutely insane.

Silence settles over the room. I don't know whether it's because people are asleep or just scared, hoping that the Grievers won't come again, and if they do, that they won't be the people to be taken. Unlike two nights ago, Teresa's allowed to be inside, and she's curled up next to Thomas, who's a few people to my left. After a few tries of mind-speaking, I know she's asleep. I shouldn't be surprised; she stayed awake all last night.

Even though I know I won't be able to, I make myself comfortable on Newt's shoulder and try to sleep. I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady, but my heart is pounding and I'm high on adrenaline. Anticipation makes my every hair stand on end, and the suspension and tension in the air is so thick it almost makes it hard to breathe.

Then come the sounds of the Grievers.

Mechanical, clicking, only a few yards from where we sit. Everyone scooches to the wall farthest away from them. I end up on the outer ring of people, with Thomas and Newt and Teresa, all of whom wear identical expressions of fear, determination, and hope. I'm sure I look the same way.

The tension in the room rises at a steady pace, mingling with the scent of sweat and fear that stings my nose with its acrid smell. Not a single thing in the room moves; the Gladers are silent. A distant sound of metal scraping wood echoes through the house. It sounds to me like a Griever is climbing the back wall of the Homestead, opposite where they were. More noises join in a few seconds later, coming from all directions, the closest right outside our window. If possible, the room goes even quieter. My blood freezes in my veins. For a split second, I want my knife back from Newt. I want to be able to defend myself. But he left it down in the weapons room with the maps, and I don't want to risk moving, let alone strolling over to the entrance to it.

A booming explosion of ripping wood and broken glass shatters the silence, thundering through the house. Several screams erupt, chilling me to the core and making me numb, and footsteps pound down the creaky stairs, announcing a horde of Gladers retreating to the first floor. Someone shrieks, their voice high-pitched with terror: "It's got Dave!"

No one in our room moves a muscle, guilty about the relief that it's not one of us. Safe, for one more night. Everyone's started to believe what Gally said two nights ago.

I jump as a horrific crash sounds right outside our door, followed by screams and the splintering of wood, like some monster is eating the entire stairwell. A second later comes another explosion of wood. The front door is probably demolished now.

All of a sudden Thomas springs to his feet. I don't realize I've been waiting for him to move until I'm following him as he flings the door open and disappears into the hallway. Newt shouts something, but there's blood roaring in my ears, blocking out all noise.

Thomas hops over the shards of wood littering the hallway and races into the Glade. Kicking up splinters in my wake, I shoot after him.

 _What's he doing!?_ Teresa screams in my head. _Tell me you're trying to stop him!_

I focus on lengthening my stride. _I am._ I'm not sure I pushed it out to her, not sure if she heard me. I catch up to Thomas and fling myself at him, tackling him. He kicks me away, landing several blows on my stomach. To top it off, he slices my wrist open with a splinter. I roll away from him, knowing that I won't be able to follow him if I don't want to bleed out faster. "Thomas, _don't_!"

He scrambles to his feet and rushes the Grievers. I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. Their legs swarm him, their needles biting his skin. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can't watch this.

Newt bursts past me, followed by Teresa and a few other Gladers. Minho crouches in front of me, blocking my view of my brother, and fishes a roll of bandages from his backpack. He wraps a length of them around my wrist and ties it off, then hauls me to my feet. Thomas is carried past us and I follow them into the Homestead, where he's dumped onto a couch. Anger and fear overwhelm me and I yell in his face. "What were you _doing!_ How could you be so fricking _stupid_!"

"No . . . Rose . . ." he croaks out. "You . . . don't . . . understand . . ."

"Shut up!" Newt bellows at him over my shoulder. "Don't waste your energy!" He pushes me away and a Med-Jack takes my place, tearing away his clothes. "He's been stung, dozens of times," he reports after a quick glance.

"What happened?" Chuck's at my shoulder, staring at Thomas. "What did he do?"

"Grief Serum!" Newt yells. "Someone better have it!"

I pull Chuck away from the chaos surrounding the couch, knowing neither of us will be able to help. "He went and got stung by the Grievers, on purpose." I know why he did it, I know he needs his memories, but . . . _Thomas,_ I say in his head. _You should have told someone!_

I get the feeling he tries to answer, but he's slipping away.

Minho flies into the room and shoves Newt aside, stabbing something into Thomas's arm. The Grief Serum, probably. The chaos dies down a little, and Thomas is carried from the room. Newt returns a few minutes later. Instinctively, I hide my wrist behind my back. He sees the flash of white-and-red bandage and closes in like a hawk. "What's that?"

"What's what?" I say, trying my best to act innocent. I want him to be focused on my brother, focused on helping him, not fixing some itty-bitty bandage problem that I have.

He reaches for my forearm and I duck out of the way. His eyes narrow. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," I insist.

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't have dodged me," he snaps.

"Her wrist's hurt," Minho says as he enters the room, shedding his blood-and-sweat stained shirt. "Thomas sliced it open with a splinter."

I glare at him.

Newt snatches up my arm and turns it over. The bandage is already soaked through over the cut, spreading up my wrist towards the top of it. He pulls off the temporary fix and sees the cut: jagged, bleeding profusely.

I think something in him snaps.

He pushes me hard, slamming my head into the wall so hard my vision goes momentarily dark. When it clears, he's obviously shouting, but I can't hear him. He grabs my shoulders, shakes me, slams me against the wall again. Minho appears behind him, and Newt swings backward with his fist, cracking Minho upside the head and making him stagger back several paces. Newt spins me away from the wall with so much force that I fall, crunching awkwardly against the couch and slumping to the wood slats of the floor. I try to get back up, but even though I want my brain to tell my body what to do, it's not.

Newt seizes my injured wrist and hauls me to my feet, then chops his hand hard onto my shoulder near my clavicle and slugs me across the jaw. I wind up back on the floor, scrambling away from him, my jaw throbbing and my wrist on fire. He lunges out to grab me again; Minho tackles him and starts raining punches. I don't know what happens next, because I black out.

 **MINHO**

Rage courses through me, setting my blood afire and strengthening my arms. My fists take turns forcing themselves into Newt's face. "How _dare_ you hit her like that," I snarl. "She's your freaking _girlfriend_! You can't just go around hitting people because the shit they do displeases you!"

"MINHO!" Chuck screams. I press my forearm against Newt's throat and look up at the young kid. He's pointing at Rose. "She—her eyes just closed!"

"Check her pulse," I command, reaching back to punch Newt again.

"I don't know how," Chuck wails.

I shoot off Newt and kick the bastard in the side so hard he actually yelps—good—and drop to my knees beside Rose. Her wrist is busy making itself a pool of blood; her skin is pale; her eyelids are fluttering. I press my fingers against her neck. Her pulse is barely there. It doesn't look like she's lost nearly enough blood by way of wrist for it to be so weak. What could be wrong with her?

"Med-Jacks!" I holler.

Ten minutes later, she's situated on a bed and I'm talking with Jeff. "I don't know, Minho," he says. "Whatever's wrong with her is out of my area of expertise. I'm not sure I can help her."

"You have to be able to," I say incredulously.

Jeff shakes his head. "The best I can do is make her comfortable, man. I think she's got some sort of internal-bleeding thing."

I bite my knuckles and don't answer.

"Hey, man," he says. "What . . . what was Newt doing? I heard him going ballistic and all, but . . ."

"Beating his girlfriend," I growl.

Jeff's eyes widen. "Sorry?"

"He got pissed because he felt like she was purposely mistreating her," I say through gritted teeth. "I dunno, something broke."

"Really?" Rose says.

We turn to her, shock probably evident on our faces. She's leaning heavily against the doorway. What—why is she standing up?

"I couldn't hear what she was saying," she explains. "It makes sense now. Goodbye, Minho. I'm gonna miss your sarcastic comments."

With that, she slips out the door.

 **ROSE**

I limp down the stairs as fast as my feet will carry me. My head is clear. Jeff said that treating me was beyond his area of expertise, so I'm going to dive through the Griever hole and get treated there, then see if I can make it easier for them to get out of this shuck Glade. If I can't do that, then I'll kill everyone in the facility and _then_ get the Gladers out.

Newt is still in that room, the one with the couch. He's sitting on the floor staring at his hands, his face pale. He doesn't notice me, not until I haul him up. I stare up at him, memorizing every feature of his face. _Please understand._ "I forgive you," I say. I plant a kiss on his lips, one that's longer than necessary seeing as I'll see him again.

Then, before he can do much of anything, I sprint out of the room. I cross the Glade and race into the Maze. I should be scared, seeing as this is my first time in since the disaster I fought through to get Gally Banished, but I guess I'm too focused on my "mission" to feel much of anything.

I follow the twists and turns of the memory in my head. Since basically everything in that maze was the same as it is in this maze, it'd be completely illogical to think that the Griever hole is anywhere but the same area.

In case I don't make it, I send a thought to Thomas, one I know instinctively he'll remember.

 _The way out is the Griever hole._

Man, I hope I'm right about this.

Sure enough, I round the last corner and see the Cliff.

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas," I cry out, singing what may be my last words, and swan dive into the exact center of the Cliff.

 **NEWT**

"I forgive you," she whispers. Then she's gone, run-limping out the door, leaving pieces of my broken heart scattered on the floor like petals of her namesake.

I force myself to my feet and jog to the window. She's already disappearing into the Maze. I yell for Minho to follow and he dutifully does, streaking across the green. If anyone can catch her it's him. I pace and wait and wait and pace, too worried about Rose to answer any questions or give any orders. All I can think about is how I beat her up and after saying that she forgave me, she ran out of the room. That means that no, she doesn't forgive me, and no, she never will.

The night ticks agonizingly by, and by the time the sun should-be-up-but-isn't, I'm ready to throttle the next Glader to ask me a question, stupid or not. Finally, Minho comes back. My hopes soar, but the door closes behind him with a desolate _thwack_ and said winged hopes take an abrupt dive to tunnel towards the core of the earth.

Minho bends over, gasping for breath. I want to grab him by the shoulders and scream and shake him, but I know from experience that he'll tell me his news when he's ready, not when I make or ask him to.

Still . . .

Minho looks up at last, eyes bloodshot. "I—I'm sorry, Newt."

My eyes round out, and panic fills me. "No! Minho—you have to go back out there! She—I— _no_!"

Minho swallows. "She's dead, Newt. I followed her to the Cliff and she jumped off." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry . . . but Rose is dead."

* * *

 **Well . . . that's the end.**

 **I'M SO SORRY**

 **I HAD TO**

 **SHE HAD TO DIE**

 **I AM SORRY**

 **Here is my futile explanation:**

 **I was getting disinterested and didn't want to stop in the middle of The Scorch Trials, because that seems disrespectful to you guys, so I killed her off. I wish I was still into this story (I still love the Maze Runner though), but Rose was getting . . . tiresome. It's not easy to come up with snarky remarks left and right. Especially not in real life.**

 **So I am sorry, and I wish I could've gone on, but I would have stopped, like, four chapters into The Scorch Trials and left you guys hanging and I really didn't want that.**

 **Thank you for being so kind and supportive, and special thanks to Penguinlover28 for reviewing every single chapter. Love all you guys, and maybe - hopefully - I'll have something else going up soon.**

 **(So sad this story is over . . .)**

 **Thanks SO much, for everything,**

 **robinartemiselfhood**

 **P.S. (the day after putting this chapter up) there's an epilogue too, but then it will REALLY be the end. Sorry!**


	16. Epilogue

**ROSE**

Thomas and Brenda are standing in the doorway of their small house, more of a cabin, watching their two children play with Minho. The two children are chasing after the former Glader, and Minho's staggering around dramatically, wailing and exaggerating his every move.

I put my arms around Newt and snuggle into his chest. "I miss Minho."

"I do too," Newt says softly.

"And Thomas. I definitely miss Thomas." I stare at my brother, who is now jogging out to join Minho.

"We've been over this before," Newt reminds me, gently.

Oh yes, we have. Don't think I don't remember. "I know."

When we came down here for the first time, I couldn't believe my eyes. Who was this new girl with Thomas, and where was Teresa? Then, as we'd listened in for years and years, we realized she was dead. Apparently she'd died pushing Thomas out of the way of a block of cement. We didn't know where she was now. Maybe she'd stayed up there so that she didn't have to watch Thomas and Brenda together.

I sit down on the grass. Now Thomas is running after his children, roaring and growling. I spent my last few moments running as well. After I jumped into that Griever Hole, WICKED took me and did all sorts of crazy stuff. I escaped the compound, but didn't escape their bullets. A sad way to go, believe me—I wasn't even heroic. I wish I had been, but Newt understands and that's really all I need. We shared stories when I found him up there, and I was so happy to see him until I realized that if he was up there he was dead too. I cried.

We're good now, though, and watching Thomas age and his children grow up is the best thing we can hope for. Newt wishes he could have said something a little nicer to Thomas just before he died. Maybe instead of _I hate you_ , _I'll miss your sorry ass_ would have been better. He's not a Crank now, Newt. No, he's back to being that same old Glader he was, and he's allowed to get his memories back whenever he wants. All he has to do is go up there and ask.

So far, he hasn't.

Thomas has backed his kids into a corner and is growling at them. They only look half scared, which is good. I should hope my brother doesn't give his children nightmares.

"Uncle Minho, save us!" squeaks the younger one, the blond boy. He's six.

"You need Uncle Minho to save you?" The older girl scoffs, but she doesn't do anything either. She's ten.

Minho comes out of nowhere, plowing into Thomas. "Those are MY treats! I get to eat them! ME!"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Thomas yells back, pushing in vain at the other man's chest.

"Good thing ya don't!" Minho pretends to punch him out and leaps to his feet. Thomas's kids are gone, but I can see them peeking out from under the porch, the boy stifling giggles. The girl looks deadly serious, and as Minho stalks by, pretending to look for them, she shoots out from underneath the porch and slams into his knees, taking him completely by surprise and tackling his legs out from under him.

"Nice one!" the boy crows.

"Rose!" Brenda scolds from the porch. "Newt! Show some respect for Uncle Minho."

"It's fine," Minho rasps from where he's tumbled to the ground. He grins at Brenda. "Haven't met someone like that in a long time."

"Stupid enough to tackle you or brave enough?" Thomas says, walking up. He pries the girl off Minho gently and lifts her onto the railing of the porch.

"Is there a difference?" Minho climbs to his feet, albeit stiffly. "Yo, Newt, what do you say we go do some manly stuff?"

"No," Brenda says, grabbing little Newt before he can run off. "No, Minho, the last time you tried to do manly stuff we had at least a dozen visitors complaining about broken windows. Whatever you think is manly clearly isn't."

Minho holds back a grin. "This time will be different, I promise."

"No," Brenda says.

"Hey, Minho." Thomas punches him on the shoulder and even though they're both in their thirties, Minho looks ready to get in some sarcasm war like he used to. "How about instead of manly stuff, you come over for dinner?"

"Dude," Minho says. "I've been coming over for dinner for the last three days."

"Whoa, is Minho refusing out of politeness?" Brenda looks at Thomas, awed.

"No," Thomas says flatly.

"Of course I'm coming over!" Minho exclaims. "I'm coming over every time you invite me until at last you _don't_ because you're sick of me! I'll be over at six." He trots off, smirking.

This is their life now. Thomas has survived his younger sister (and really that's just sad). He's survived his best friend. And though it may hurt, it's life, and he's plowing on. I can tell he barely thinks about me anymore. When he does think about me, I know because his face darkens and he has to go away for at least an hour. I go and cry when he does that.

This is their life now. It's hard, growing all those crops and starting over from scratch. But, as Minho often says, at least they _have_ a life.

Although it hurts, it's true.


End file.
